


The Game

by mechawaka



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content, chapters 1-2 are pre-timeskip, chapters 3-5 are post-timeskip, deep denial, explicit hand holding, just awkward unspoken crushes, mature content begins in chapter 3, no romance pre-timeskip, sparring as a metaphor for dating, the deepest denial, two baby idiots can't talk about their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:29:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22664035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechawaka/pseuds/mechawaka
Summary: When Felix asks his professor to teach him how to move more stealthily, Byleth suggests some rather unorthodox training.“You can think of it like a game. Sneak up on me and land a hit, and the match is yours.”[The evolution of a dance performed between the only two members of an emotionally stunted species.]
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 55
Kudos: 643





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My brain read their paired ending for Azure Moon and went, "What if the ambushes started earlier?" So here's...that.

Their game had started simply.

“Teach me to move like you,” he said one afternoon after class, eyes tight with determination, with both palms flat down on her desk like he meant business.

Byleth slowly raised her head from her lesson plan. As was her habit, she simply quirked an eyebrow and waited for him to elaborate. She was not one to be at a disadvantage, and she certainly wasn’t about to agree to such a vague request.

Felix grunted impatiently. “You know. Silently.”

_Ah_ . She _had_ been noticing his intense stares on the battlefield when she stole past enemy lines to eliminate a priority target. But…

“The way I fight is not, hm,” she said, contemplating a safe choice of words, “ _chivalrous_. If you do it correctly, the enemy will not sense your presence before you strike. Are you sure you want to learn?” She remembered the vaguely horrified look on Ingrid’s face the first time she’d seen Byleth slit a bandit’s throat from behind. Priceless.

His amber eyes tracked the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth. “I don’t care about that and neither do you,” he said. “Will you teach me or not?”

“You’ll have to learn the bow.”

“Easy enough.” 

“And we won’t be able to focus heavily on your hand-to-hand skills for a while.”

“ _Agreed_. I’m in, all right? Whatever it takes.” His jaw was set and his eyes, though not fully making contact with hers, stared resolutely over her left shoulder. She could tell he was serious.

Byleth took a deep breath and stood up from her desk, bundling her papers together to buy herself time to think. There was no real reason for her to deny him. It wasn’t like she was lacking in free time, and he had agreed to all of her conditions. But these lessons would be non-standard and couldn’t be accomplished using the same means as weapons training; they’d have to meet outside regular class hours. A suspiciously Seteth-like voice in the back of her head cautioned her on the importance of maintaining a professional distance from the students. 

“Are you really going to turn me down after all that?” Felix asked harshly after a few moments of silence. 

She blinked up at him, unhurried and unfazed. Months of dealing with his sharp tongue had immunized her to its barbs. “No. Just thinking of the best approach.” She rounded the desk, perching on its side and crossing her arms over her chest. “You already know the basics of light footwork and breath control, so there is little I could teach you in the classroom. If you’re serious about this-”

“I am,” he interrupted, mirroring her posture.

“Then I’m going to teach you the way I was taught,” she said. “Practically and through trial and error. But here at the monastery, there aren’t any bandits for you to practice ambushing. Usually.”

Felix snorted a laugh, his mouth twisting up into a smirk. “And so?”

“You’ll practice on me.” Byleth privately delighted in the way his eyes widened and his jaw went slack. She was a master of infiltration and found pleasure in it, whether the defenses she slipped past were the walls of an enemy or the facade of an angsty teenager. “You can think of it like a game. Sneak up on me and land a hit, and the match is yours.”

His eyes, trained on the door of the classroom, slowly drifted to hers as she spoke. “There aren’t many places to hide in the training grounds,” he observed, an eager edge to his voice that said he already knew where this was going.

“Indeed. For these lessons to be effective, we will need to consider the entire monastery to be our training grounds,” she said, hopping off of her desk and walking to the blackboard. Felix trailed her readily, one hand under his chin in contemplation as she drew a rough chalk layout of Garreg Mach. “Obviously, some places are off limits.” She struck out the cathedral and the second-floor faculty offices, chuckling wryly at the thought of the archbishop catching her playing glorified hide-and-seek with a student. After some consideration, she crossed out the dormitories as well. “We also wouldn’t want to disturb your classmates in their rooms.”

Felix hummed in what was probably supposed to be agreement, but Byleth recognized as ill-concealed disdain. “If they’re not ready for battle at any time, then they’re not ready to be military officers.”

“Even so,” she replied, hiding a smile behind a closed fist, “this is a school, and they have a certain expectation of privacy in the dorms.” She outlined the allowed areas more heavily so that they stood out from the disallowed ones. “What do you think of this for our legal play area?”

He hummed again, this time more agreeably. “I like it. Are there any other rules to this game?”

“Nope,” she said, popping the last syllable. “Though I suppose we could add some if the need arises. When you fail to surprise me, I will give you pointers based on the situation.”

Felix laughed again, eyes sparkling with the thrill of a challenge. “ _When_ I fail, huh?” He tapped the blackboard with his knuckles, giving Byleth a confident grin. “We’ll see.”

\---

The first time he failed, Byleth was tending vegetables in the garden with her back to the open door. She did this purposefully, hoping that Felix would go for a perceived easy win. 

He did not disappoint. She was only halfway through aerating a fresh patch of earth when she heard it: a whisper of leather on stone, nearly imperceptible save for the minute crunch of sand and dirt abrading the ground. Three quick strides and he was on her, swinging in a tight upward arc with a practice blade, aiming for her exposed left side.

Byleth, already crouched to work the soil, jumped nimbly away from the sword and delivered a tight punch to one of his kneecaps. He toppled backward, landing in an inelegant sitting position on the ground, the practice sword clattering to the stone beside him.

He let out a haughty puff of air, pushing windblown hair back out of his face. “How’d you know?”

She stood up, wiping off her hands on her outer jacket before offering one to him. “Three things,” she said, putting up three fingers on her free hand. Felix grudgingly took the one she offered and got back to his feet. “One: the ambient noise level. I had the advantage here, since it is quiet compared to the rest of the monastery. You must consider the terrain in which _you_ have the advantage. Which brings me to two: your shoes.”

“My shoes?” Felix asked dubiously, looking down at his feet.

“Yes. That leather sole is good for traction, but it traps sediment. Sediment crunches. You need something flat and soft for ground like this.” She thought for a moment, then added, “It would not have been such a big problem in an area with more ambient noise.”

He frowned down at his footwear as if it had betrayed him. “I see. And third?”

Byleth sighed. This was going to be the hard one, but he needed to hear it; it was pretty much step one, and the concept that had first tripped her up, as well. “The third thing is,” she said, raising one arm in the air and waving it back and forth. Felix regarded it with narrowed eyes, but then his focus shifted past her arm and to the dark, serrated shadow it cast on the foliage behind it. “Light level and time of day. Being silent is not enough.”

Her student visibly deflated at the realization that she’d simply seen him coming.

“If it helps,” she said, trying her best to sound encouraging, “my shadow gave me away on my first attempt as well. I was tracking a scouting party and caught one of them alone - but from the wrong direction.”

Felix looked up sharply, forgoing his rule against eye contact in his surprise. “What happened?”

“Well, I got stabbed.” Byleth ran one finger along the side of her stomach to show him the length of the scar. His attention dropped to it, following the path of her finger. “Hopefully, by doing this, we can avoid such a messy consequence for you - ah, Felix?”

He’d brought one hand up to cover his mouth, eyes pointedly averted from her stomach. A deep red stained his cheeks and crept down his neck. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I’ll get you next time.”

Byleth opened her mouth to inquire further, but her student was already retreating from the greenhouse at a fast, stilted pace. One hand still covered his face while the other rested on his sword pommel, fingers twitching. He turned sharply to the left upon exiting, heading for the second floor dormitories.

“Yeah, see you later, Felix,” she muttered to an empty room. She absently felt along her abdomen, wondering what could have caused him such immediate discomfort, when her hand met the exposed patch of skin at the bottom of her bodice. _Ah_. So it was not her words, but rather the turmoils of adolescence that had sent him running.

She couldn’t think of a way to apologize that wasn’t terribly awkward, so she settled for picking him up a fresh whetstone at the market.

\---

Later that evening, while sharing drinks with her fellow teachers, she raised her glass mug and stared pensively at the amber liquid inside. “Do you guys think my outfit is too revealing?” She asked, giving them a pleading stare.

“Yes,” Hanneman answered at once, adjusting his monocle. “I can only imagine what terror it visits upon the students.”

Seteth, who had only recently been dragged to these outings at Manuela’s insistence and was hitherto barely present in the conversation, choked on a sip of his drink and spent the next several minutes coughing, head buried in his hands. Byleth thought that answer enough to her question.

“Of course not!” Manuela exclaimed. “We’ve never had a dress code for the teachers. And besides, if it was truly inappropriate, don’t you think the archbishop would have said something by now?”

Byleth sighed into her glass, sending little ripples across the surface of her drink.

\---

After that first attempt, Felix took some time to internalize her instruction - and likely to recoup his pride - before trying again. Byleth would sense him sometimes on her way to various parts of the monastery, stalking along like a jungle cat just out of sight, but not quite out of hearing, practicing his posture, his breathing, his movements, and always with intense eyes fixed on her back.

When he began his strikes again, they were more precise, from differing angles, and usually at dusk or dawn. _Good_ , she thought. _He’s learning_. But still he ended each attempt on his back or his buttocks, cursing and reaching for his practice sword.

At least he understood that this, like all acquired skills, would take time. 

“I want to add a rule,” he said one day at lunch, picking over a bowl of stew. He’d waited until Sylvain, their other dining partner, got up for seconds. 

Byleth set down her spoon. She’d noticed that Felix didn’t mention the game in front of others, and only ambushed her when no one else was around. Whatever his reasoning for this - embarrassment, perhaps, at seeking extra lessons? - she’d decided to respect his wishes. “Okay. What were you thinking?”

He pushed the vegetables around his bowl hesitantly. Finally he said, “They’re over too quickly. Our matches.” He fell silent and Byleth patiently waited for him to continue. When he spoke again, it was with more confidence, “After the initial encounter, we should cross blades until one party yields. It will imitate a real ambush.”

She nodded along, thinking on the substance of his idea. It certainly wasn’t a bad one, but there were some concerns. “That will be quite a bit more conspicuous,” she hedged, hoping he caught her meaning.

His shoulders sagged by a nearly imperceptible amount. “Never mind,” he said quickly, pushing around the contents of his stew with more urgency. “Forget I said anything.”

Byleth grimaced. _Great job_. “It’s a good idea, Felix. I only meant that there is a much higher likelihood of someone noticing.”

He raised his head, meeting her gaze with the only look of uncertainty she’d ever seen him wear. “You don’t want people to notice?” He asked, voice smaller and less self-assured than usual. With an alarming bolt of clarity, Byleth wondered if he was still talking about their game.

“Notice what?” Sylvain asked, chewing loudly on a piece of sausage as he resumed his place at the table. “Whoa, Felix, what’s got you all flustered?” He looked between his friend and his teacher, eagerly awaiting the moment someone let him in on the joke. 

“Nothing,” Felix and Byleth said in unison, giving each other startled glances and averting their eyes.

Sylvain’s eyebrows raised practically to his hairline. “Oh, really?” He asked conspiratorially, leaning forward to scrutinize them both with a mischievous grin. “It doesn’t _look_ like ‘nothing.’”

“Well, it is,” Felix snapped, face reddening. “Isn’t,” he corrected. “It isn’t anything.” The blush was quickly traveling from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He grit his teeth. “Why don’t you mind your own damn business?”

The grin on Sylvain’s face just kept getting wider, tears forming at the edges of his eyes as he tried desperately to hold in his laughter. “Sure, yeah, okay,” he said, voice tense with restraint. “Whatever you say, man.”

He rounded on Byleth, who had, in her panic, drawn back inside her dispassionate mask to escape any hints of vulnerability. There was a knowing glint in his eye, and for a moment she was worried he would push the issue, but instead he only asked, “Are we still having that magic seminar tomorrow, Professor?”

She exhaled in relief. “Yes. Hanneman has spent a long time preparing for it, so I hope you will both be in attendance.”

That obviously wasn’t the answer Sylvain had been hoping for. “Aw, really? I had a date lined up and everything,” he complained, giving Byleth his best dejected pout.

Felix snorted. “Don’t make me think about your disgusting habits while I’m eating.”

“Excuse me?” Sylvain asked, mock offended, and just like that the table’s atmosphere returned to normal, saturated with the typical sounds of two boys bantering. 

Byleth felt a weight lift off her shoulders. She didn’t let herself continue her line of thinking from before Sylvain had returned; those were dangerous conclusions to skirt around and she was, fundamentally, an evader. And so she evaded them.

\---

From that day forward, she made sure to wear a practice sword on her hip, underneath her jacket; a tacit acceptance of Felix’s added rule. He answered not with words, but by donning one as well.

Bewildered students asked her about it from time to time, but she always gave vague answers in return. Some part of her relished the confusion it sowed, and she could tell that Felix enjoyed it as well. Now, when they passed each other in the halls, they would exchange small, private smiles, each meant only for the other. A secret that no one else knew.

Of course, it couldn’t stay secret forever.

The first time he ambushed her under the new rule, Byleth was checking equipment at the stables. It was so early that she hadn’t even passed Cyril on her way down, but she needed to make sure that the horses’ tack and armor was being cared for properly before the day’s riding lessons.

He came around the corner like an arrow, approaching from the direction of the dining hall - where the chefs were bustling to prepare breakfast - to mask the sounds of his footfalls.

Byleth allowed herself a single moment of pride at his growth before she brought up her blade to parry his strike. But it wasn’t over yet; their game no longer ended after a single blow.

Felix seemed to be counting on this, as he’d cornered her against an occupied stable stall. Her momentary pride twisted into irked amusement. Had he given up on surprising her, and now thought to best her in a traditional bout of sparring?

She leaned back against the wooden wall and let him think he was gaining ground. It worked; she saw him adjust his movements for a quick subdual, bringing his blade horizontally toward her throat. _Oh, Felix,_ she thought, _when will you stop underestimating your opponents?_

With her elbows braced against the wall, she pushed forward, holding her sword perpendicular to his. The momentum pushed him backward from the stone floor into the dirt of the stable yard, his skidding feet kicking up a cloud of orange dust. He didn’t fall - he was growing used to her close range maneuvers - but he staggered back on one foot, giving her an opening to advance.

His blade met hers again with a sharp _thwack_ ; they struggled there in the dirt, trading blows for inches of ground. By the time they had broken a sweat, breathing hard and squinting in the dust, the morning bells of Garreg Mach rang out over the monastery grounds. Students would be waking now, and in a matter of minutes they would head out in droves to the dining hall for breakfast.

Byleth stole a glance at Felix’s face; he was still intent on their battle, but he looked nervous. They had to end this quickly or run the risk of an intrusion, and logically, she knew that wasn’t a big deal. They could simply end this match early and try again at a later time. But a small part of her balked at the thought of being caught, the thought of someone discovering their game. Someone sharing that knowledge with others.

Yes, she had to end this quickly.

Perhaps Felix had that same idea, for his shoves and positioning became more deliberate, pushing her steadily in the direction of the gardens as they fought. Byleth allowed herself to be moved, keeping one eye on the row of hedges.

Their swings became less intense, their footwork defensive as both combatants conserved energy for a final, decisive attack. These were the moments she loved best: when she and her opponent sized each other up, assessing strength reserves and willpower, and tried to gauge the perfect moment to strike. Felix excelled at these moments, as his gift of perception was nearly unmatched.

Unfortunately for him, he was still terrible at reading complex feints.

In the midst of a turn, Byleth overextended her right leg, twisting her face into a believable wince as she did so. That alone wasn’t enough to trick Felix anymore, she knew - and she wasn’t disappointed, as the action barely drew his eye. He fixed her with a half-lidded stare and she could practically hear his thoughts: _Really?_

But that bored expression turned to worry when she flashed him a tiny, victorious smirk; her extension had put her just out of position for his current swing, and that split second of readjustment was all she needed.

In one smooth movement, she thrust the palm of her off hand against his sternum, sending him backward against the tea garden’s outer hedge wall. She brought her sword up from a downward angle, letting the tip rest just under his chin.

The dust settled around them for a few silent, breathless seconds, where they just stared at each other, personal boundaries forgotten. 

“I yield,” he said, but there was no anger in his voice. Instead he wore a competitive smile, leaning forward against her hand like he was eager for another round already. Knowing Felix, he probably was. “That was a close one. This is a good rule.”

He dropped his sword, completing the yield, and its loud impact with the stone path jolted Byleth back into the present. She became viscerally aware of their point of contact - his wild heartbeat, the fine texture of his black vest, the heat coming off his body - and dropped her hand at once. Such proximity was foreign to her; judging by the puzzled and vaguely bereft expression on his face as he touched the spot she’d just vacated, it was for him as well.

“You chose advantageous terrain,” she said approvingly, hoping to move them past this moment of awkwardness. “Keep making choices like that and you’ll have me in no time.”

Felix, who’d looked like he had a sarcastic comment ready, clammed up at her words. He’d long averted his eyes, but now they flicked back to hers, searching, before darting away again. Byleth made to inquire about his odd behavior, but never got the chance.

“Good morning, Professor! Felix,” Dorothea’s saccharine voice called out from the covered walkway that separated the classrooms from the gardens. “My, you two are certainly up early. Training, I presume?”

“Yes,” Byleth said, strangely relieved at the interruption.

At the same time, Felix spat out, “No.”

They looked at each other, the former frowning and the latter defiant.

“I’m going to take a bath,” Felix muttered, his mouth a thin, hard line as he snatched up his training sword and stalked toward the dorms. 

Byleth watched him leave, her mind a storm of confusion. Had she said something wrong? _Done_ something wrong? Did he take such an exception to being touched? Thinking back to all the incidental brushes that happened during a normal sparring session, she doubted that was the case.

“Um, Professor?” Dorothea was next to her now, her tone concerned. “Did I interrupt something…?”

A gaggle of students passed by under the walkway and a few of them gave Byleth inquisitive sideways glances; she must be a sight, she realized, dirty and sweaty at sunrise. “No,” she said, and then repeated more confidently, “No,” while sheathing her blade. “I need to clean up. Will I see you at breakfast?”

Dorothea’s answering smile was radiant as always. “Of course,” she said, laying a caring hand briefly on Byleth’s arm, “And please don’t hesitate to speak with me about your worries.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a socially conscious person: would you like to date me?
> 
> felix hugo fraldarius: fight me in public


	2. Chapter 2

Their game had started simply.

Felix lowered himself into one of the many wooden tubs in the bath house, remembering his request: _teach me to move like you_.

He’d carefully planned out a speech beforehand and even practiced it in his room before coming to class that day. But when he’d finally had the opportunity, his words came out brusque and abrasive - _as usual_ , he thought sourly. Still, though, the professor had humored him, even acquiesced without much prodding. That was why he enjoyed Byleth’s company; she didn’t bullshit. He trusted her to say what she meant, and he felt comfortable doing the same. 

He was initially surprised by the methods she’d chosen to hone his stealth skills, but he’d quickly grown used to them, had even come to relish their _game_. Not that he’d ever admit it, but watching her was already a hobby of his, so he hadn’t had to change his habits much to find prime ambush opportunities. He’d been watching her since she came to the Academy and took over the Blue Lions. (Since the first time she’d effortlessly knocked him to the floor of the training grounds and he’d looked up at her placid silhouette and experienced awe for the second time in his life.)

And her training was working. His senses were sharper than they’d ever been; he could pick out individual sounds in a crowded room, spot a figure in the darkness across the monastery grounds, traverse the silence of the library without raising a head or disturbing a single leaf of paper. And if Felix privately enjoyed monopolizing so much of her time outside class, being the reason for the training sword on her hip and the recipient of secret, sly smiles, well, what of it?

But now that jealously guarded time - which should be Felix’s alone - was ruined. 

By _Dorothea_ of all people.

He sank lower in the warm water, scowling. Even if she didn’t spread any rumors of what she saw - and Felix knew she disliked rumors, so at least there was that - she would still _know_ . And for reasons he couldn’t pinpoint, reasons that made his heart ache like a bruise, that _knowing_ bothered him deeply.

As he ruminated, unbeknownst to his conscious mind, one hand drifted up to lie against his sternum, trying to find the exact place the professor had touched. By the time he realized what he was doing, he’d discovered the placement exactly and a smile tugged at his mouth. 

He ripped his hand away with a grunt, staring at it as though it had a mind of its own, as though it was solely responsible for his actions. Irritation itched along his nerves; even now, as he consciously acknowledged the impropriety of these feelings, his hand longed to return to that spot, to feel where she’d felt, to establish that connection once more. Guilt and arousal mixed clumsily in his gut; she was his teacher. His _mentor_. The closest thing he had to a friend since-

No, he was _not_ going there. He viciously culled that line of thinking and scrubbed himself clean as quickly as he could, slipping into a clean uniform and fleeing both the bath house and his rebellious thoughts.

\---

He didn’t ambush her for a while after that. At first, he internally cited his own lack of preparedness. His last attempt had failed despite strict adherence to her advice: advantageous terrain, ambient noise, and time of day. Realistically he knew that it would take more time to best her, even if he executed everything perfectly; Byleth was just that experienced. But part of him, a small part that he would never admit, was afraid. Afraid that someone else would discover them and _know_. How many other people would he have to share this with?

When Byleth asked him to stay after class one day, he hesitantly obeyed, hovering near the classroom door. _Like wary prey_ , he reprimanded internally, forcing himself to approach her desk, but he nevertheless crossed his arms; a final barrier between them.

“What?” He asked, sounding more harsh than he’d intended. Byleth thought so too, it seemed, since she just rested her chin on a closed fist, regarding him with her head tilted instead of giving him an answer. He clicked his tongue and stood his ground. “Why did you want to see me?”

She approved with a slight nod. “I want to add a rule,” she said, the corners of her lips twitching upward. Felix noted this in his peripheral vision while he pretended to scrutinize the blackboard. 

People around him always said that Byleth was stone-faced. Unexpressive. The Ashen Demon, they called her. He thought those people must be either blind or dull-witted; he’d always been able to read her. If not from her face, then from her bearing or the arc of her blade.

“All right,” he replied, relaxing his posture. So she didn’t want to scold him for avoiding their game. Cautiously, he let his arms fall to his sides, let his eyes slide from the blackboard to the tapestry that hung over her left shoulder. Closer, but not too close.

“I think we should mandate some regularity into the game,” she said lightly, tapping the end of her pen on the day’s lesson plan. Her tone was casual, but her skin pulled tight around her eyes; her pen beat out an irritated staccato rhythm against the paper.

He smirked; so she _did_ want to scold him for avoiding their game.

Despite his earlier apprehension, Felix felt oddly pleased that his absence bothered her so much. That it occupied so much of her mind.

“You should make an attempt at least once a week,” she continued, tracking the path of his eyes where they’d landed on her hands. He shifted his attention immediately, feigning interest in the wood grain of her desk. “The consistency will aid your training.”

“Okay,” he said, agreement tumbling out of his mouth before he could think.

Byleth’s rigid expression softened in relief. “Good,” she said.

He was always looking for natural breaking points in conversations, mostly so that he could use them to extract himself from the company of others, and he saw one here. If he just walked away now, he could establish distance between them and maybe stop obsessing over the warm pressure of her hand against his chest. 

But he hesitated for one breath. Two breaths. And then, when he could no longer contain his curiosity, blurted out, “What did Dorothea say?”

She looked up sharply, the faintest dusting of pink alighting high on her cheekbones. Felix blinked rapidly, taken aback by the expression while instantly committing it to memory. Was she...embarrassed? A hot flame licked up his throat, the unfamiliar sensation nearly choking him. What could have happened with Dorothea that would leave her looking like this?

“She was worried that she’d interrupted us.” Byleth’s voice was as even as always, but she couldn’t hide that slow-fading blush.

Felix took a steady breath to ground himself. “She _did_ ,” he spat. “Was that all?”

Byleth’s eyes, far-off and wistful, honed in on his face. She appraised him for a quiet moment before answering, “Yes. I didn’t tell her.”

At once the tension in his shoulders eased; his jaw unclenched. Somehow she knew what he’d really been asking. He wanted to thank her, but for what? For indulging his childish possessiveness? He shifted his weight from one foot to the other restlessly. He should say _something_ to indicate how grateful he was. Felix may not have understood many things about social custom, but he understood gratitude.

Finally, after an eternity of just staring over her shoulder while she patiently waited for him to function like a normal person, he settled on a curt, “Good,” before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

\---

Things between them returned to normal after that. So normal, in fact - so impersonal, just as Felix usually liked it - that he was left with a nagging emptiness in his chest whenever they parted after an ambush. Watching Byleth walk away from him silently after advising him on his mistakes, he always felt as if he should say...something. He didn’t know what. But every single time, he restrained himself from speaking or reaching out for her. The impulse left him confused and frustrated, gnashing his teeth in the dead of night while trying desperately to dispel her from his thoughts. Back then, he didn’t think the situation could worsen.

And then the grand ball happened.

It had been torturous enough watching her lead the boar in graceful circles around the courtyard, attempting to curb his savagery long enough to secure a win at the White Heron Cup. (And the prince _had_ won; of course he had. Byleth was his teacher.)

But standing in the back of a crowded room, enduring his classmates - and several students outside the Blue Lions - twirling her around the dance floor for hours? _That_ was torture. He plastered himself to the back wall, practically snarling at anyone who approached, clenching the hilt of his sword in a vice grip and watching Byleth’s face as she accepted the hand of yet another dance partner.

He wondered if she enjoyed it. If she reveled in the companionship, the noise, the crowds, in the same way his peers did - in the same way he had never been able. Perhaps this was the environment in which she thrived; perhaps these were the traits she looked for in a partner.

Felix pushed off the wall and slipped into the night before he could consider the implications of those thoughts too deeply.

\---

After Jeralt’s death, the ambushes stopped. Not because Byleth asked him to, but because she presented too easy of a target. In her grief - in her anger - she was careless. He watched it eat away at her from the shadows, making her movements graceless and direct. He hated seeing her like that; she reminded him of the boar.

So he stuck close, observing but not interacting, ready to catch her if she fell. He vowed he wouldn’t lose another to vengeance.

And catch her, he did. Soon they chased Kronya into the woods. Soon, Solon unleashed his strange magic and Byleth came back different. Drained. 

After delivering the final blow, she collapsed. Dimitri, in his constant struggle to keep his human skin presentable, moved a second too slowly to intercept her.

But Felix was fast. Felix didn’t let her hit the dirt. He cradled the back of her head in one hand while he scooped her up by the waist with the other, indifferent to the startled gasps of his classmates. “What are you staring at? Go find Professor Manuela!” He snapped, scattering his more timid peers in the direction of the monastery.

The boar gave him a tense, knowing sidelong glance. Felix sneered back.

\---

“Professor, you missed dinner. Again,” Felix called from outside her closed dorm room door. He held a tray of her favorite food - grilled fish seasoned with an Almyran spice that made his nose itch - in both hands, feet planted firmly on the stone walkway. She’d missed every meal since the day of Edelgard’s betrayal, only leaving her room to scavenge maps from the library like a thief in the night. Today would be different, he told himself. He wasn’t leaving until she let him in.

Much like his previous attempts, there was no answer from inside the room. Pressing his ear to the door, he could hear the frantic shuffling of paper and the scratch of a quill on parchment. He stepped back, squaring his shoulders for another round.

“Dedue made that weird fish you like so much.”

Nothing. Why Felix’s classmates decided to send _him_ , of all people, to get through to the professor, he’d never know.

“I’m not just going to go away, you know. I’ll stay until you talk to me.” He fixed the door with his meanest glare as if he could intimidate it into opening. Several minutes passed in silence; steam filtered upward from the tray of fish and dissipated into the cold night air. All the while, frustration crept up Felix’s spine like a snake. 

“She’s coming back. With an army. We could really use you _out here_ .” The bite in his voice made him grimace. _Speak gently_ , Annette had said. Well, maybe _she_ should have come out here instead.

A quiet sob sounded from inside the room, a sound he’d never heard his professor make. It stabbed directly into the meat of his heart, making it clench painfully. He set down the tray and pressed both palms against the door, leaning into it.

“I’m sorry. But we really do need you,” he said as _gently_ as he could. “Please, Byleth.” He’d never called her by her name before, but somehow her title felt inadequate for the situation. In his desperation, he thought she could punish him as much as she liked as long as she opened the damn door.

He held his breath, waiting for an answer, and let it out slowly when the lock clicked on the other side. He stepped back, not wanting to crowd her.

A moment later the door cracked open, no more than an inch at most, but enough to frame one bloodshot green eye. “I hope you realize,” she said in a faint, hoarse voice, “how ironic it is that _you_ are now encroaching on _my_ personal space.” 

Felix wanted to disagree, to push back, but then Byleth took an unsteady, shuddering breath and he kept his mouth closed. Instead he picked up the tray, holding the still-warm fish up for her to see. A peace offering.

She gave it a once-over, grabbed it, and then turned her back, letting the door fall open in her wake. Felix followed her inside before she could change her mind, stepping carefully around the maps that littered the floor.

He made sure that she’d plopped down at her desk to dig into the food, then tilted his head to examine the maps. They seemed to be mostly of the monastery and its grounds, their edges laid together to form one larger representation of the land. Loose papers riddled with Byleth’s messy handwriting were held down with rocks at various locations; he noticed battle formations and long mathematical equations on most of them. 

“You’ve been strategizing,” he said, eyes widening, before laughing dryly. “Of course you have.” What a fool he’d been to think that she was holed up in grief.

She nodded around a mouthful of fish, pointing to a spot by her chair. He turned to see it better, maneuvering his feet so that they didn’t disturb anything. The map in question was a small one depicting the front gate and some of the surrounding town. Byleth had placed paper bits with tiny, crudely drawn figures strategically around the buildings. Ambush placements.

With a scoff, he realized that the figure holding a sword and wearing an exaggerated frown was supposed to be him. He examined the scenario with a hand on his chin. “I see. You anticipate them attacking from the main gate, since the side gates wouldn’t accommodate their numbers.” She nodded emphatically, shoveling more food into her mouth. If he weren’t so intent on her strategy, he might have found it cute. “And the defending force is small. You want to hide us effectively.”

Byleth swallowed hard, taking a long gulp from the water glass on the tray. “Exactly,” she said, sounding proud that he’d followed her logic. Felix tried to ignore the warmth spreading in his chest. “We’ll have a token force of knights at the main gate, but most will be reinforcing the two side gates. Knowing Edelgard, she has spies inside our walls already. I want them to report these troop movements to her. She will attack the front gate if she believes it unguarded.”

_Spies_. He frowned. “And that’s why you’ve been hiding these plans in your room and not sharing them with us?” His voice came out belligerent, like a child pouting. He berated himself inwardly. 

She wiped her mouth with a napkin and raised her head, and Felix’s hands clenched into fists at his sides; she looked so _tired_ \- vulnerable - like everything she was had sagged under an immeasurable weight. In no state to be leading a fighting force.

“Not _only_ that,” she said, trying to smile, but the resulting expression was wavering and weak. “I haven’t been able to face you- the students. She wanted to hurt you all along and I couldn’t stop her. I…” she trailed off, squeezing her eyes shut, but not before he saw the glimmering of tears in them.

Felix fell to his knees, following an instinctive urge to provide aid, comfort, _anything_ , not caring if he hit the maps this time in his drive to be closer. He leaned over her sitting form, hands hovering near her shoulders but not quite making contact. He tried to speak, but the only sound that came out was a strangled, frustrated grunt; what was he supposed to _do_ ? What could he possibly do to help her? A deeply unwelcome thought intruded on his panic: _even the boar would know how to comfort another_.

After a few breaths spent forming and discarding stupid ideas, he settled for placing one hand on her shoulder. He kept his eyes firmly on that hand as he spoke. “Nobody could have predicted her betrayal. What matters is how we act now.” He swallowed roughly; in his peripheral vision, Byleth opened her eyes and was staring at him with something like wonder. “If you keep clinging on to regret, it _will_ kill you.”

She winced away from his harsh words, muscles tensing under his touch. But then they relaxed. She placed a hand over his, easing her fingers underneath until she was the one holding him. “You’re right,” she said quietly. The tears never fell from her eyes; when he looked back at her, they were dry again. “Thank you, Felix.”

He didn’t know what to say to that - _you’re welcome_ seemed wholly idiotic - and so he said nothing, simply giving a sharp, forced nod. He was acutely aware that he should let go of her, that the contact had now lasted just a bit too long to be socially acceptable, but her hand was so cold. So small. He found his hold tightening instead.

And Byleth was still staring at him, her face slightly scrunched like she was doing math in her head. With some effort, he forced himself to meet her eyes, hoping to share in whatever realization she was forming.

This time, _she_ was the one to look away, lips tightening in concern. She gently disentangled their hands, giving him an affectionate squeeze before letting go. “It’s late,” she said, standing up from her chair. To avoid being eye-level with her waist, Felix stood as well. “We should both get some sleep. Will you tell the others to meet in the classroom tomorrow morning? I want to go over this strategy with everyone.”

Her reasoning was solid, but it still came out like an excuse. An excuse to get him to leave? Felix frowned, confused, but had no reason to refuse her. “All right,” he said, but something about her tone and behavior didn’t sit well with him. He allowed her to lead him to the door and into the covered walkway, but braced a hand against the wall when she tried to turn back, effectively blocking her way.

“Why are you acting like this?” He asked sternly. 

Byleth froze, nearly running into his arm. She gave him a look that bordered on fearful; a look he’d never seen on her. And then she lied to him for the first time. “I suspect I’m worn thin from lack of sleep. Sorry if I worried you.”

He reared back, stung by her dishonesty. His brain stuttered as he tried to process the unease on her face that didn’t match up with her words. Did she think he couldn’t see it? How could she not know-

But she _did_ know. Guilt tinged her eyes and twisted her mouth, caused a tremor in her hands where they fisted in the cloth of her jacket sleeves. So it was something she couldn’t say, even if it cost her the foundation on which they’d built their friendship: trust.

“Then sleep,” he commanded, sounding cold even to his own ears. Byleth flinched, brimming with remorse, and reached out for him - but he took a fluid step back, ignoring the stinging in his eyes, and walked away.

It was the last time they exchanged words outside battle before he lost her.

\---

Three weeks.

That was how long Professor Manuela said a person could last without food, on average. Assuming Byleth was mobile enough that she could scavenge for a water supply - and she could; she was an expert survivalist - then she could endure for around three weeks at the bottom of those cliffs.

During that time, Felix threw himself into the recovery effort like a demon, stopping only to consume what his body needed to keep going. He rappelled into that gods-forsaken chasm more times than he could count, until his boot soles were worn to tatters, until his fingertips were more scab than skin.

Each descent left him more hollow than the last. He hadn’t needed Manuela’s time estimation; Glenn had told him horror stories about wounded soldiers who got separated from their units and the slow, painful deaths they would face if they couldn’t find their way out of the wilderness.

At night he stared up at his ceiling and imagined her crumpled in some dark corner of a ravine, injured, cold, and alone, and he _hated_ himself for letting her out of his sight on the battlefield.

The twenty-second day came and went without incident, but the volunteers’ eyes grew more haunted as they stared down the yawning darkness, securing their rope belts and preparing to search for a corpse instead of a person.

On the thirtieth day, Ingrid and Sylvain had to physically restrain him from descending.

“The Imperial army is marching on Faerghus!” Sylvain shouted, anger and regret etched into his features. “We’ve stayed as long as we can. We need to protect our homeland!”

“Go, then, and have fun dying under that rabid beast’s command,” Felix snapped back, tongue dripping poison. The cruelty came easily and the hurt on Sylvain’s face gave him a sick satisfaction deep in his gut.

Ingrid was kinder, bandaging Felix’s hands in the privacy of his room after Sylvain had stormed off to pack. “You don’t have to come with us, but you can’t keep doing this to yourself, Felix,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”

He looked up at her and saw the profound, ageless sorrow she tried so desperately to keep hidden. Numbly, he nodded, both an acknowledgement of her own suffering and an agreement to her statement. The realization suffused his body like a cold sludge, deadening all it touched.

“Come back to Faerghus,” she urged. “There are still those we can save.”

With shaking hands, he pushed himself to his feet and followed her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's day!

The first breath she took was a wet gasp that tasted of iron and river mud. Her awareness dawned slowly while she struggled onto her knees, retching and coughing until her throat was clear. 

Soft dirt squelched between her fingers as she scrabbled at the ground. Water flowed around her ankles and calves, frigid and fast-moving, until she pulled herself up and onto the - riverbank. Yes, this was a riverbank. Her eyes cracked open through a layer of caked-on sediment; she plunged her head back into the water briefly to clean her face, then took a bleary look at her surroundings. 

She was alone at least - that was fortunate - and the slope of the riverbank lent her some cover from the road above it. Half-destroyed buildings surrounded her on all sides, but it was the familiar fork in the road that gave her pause. She blinked a few times to bring the image into focus, but no, she was right - this was the crossroads village downriver from the monastery. But when had it been ravaged so thoroughly?

Before standing, she stretched out her limbs and carefully tested them for mobility and injury, pleased to find them in good working order. Her clothes were less fortunate, looking as though they had been torn by something rough and jagged, but after a few test lunges, she determined that they wouldn’t hinder her movements.

Next, she unsheathed the Sword of the Creator and inspected it for damage, running her hands across its bony surface. As she thought, it looked no different than last time she’d seen it; she’d put it through far more rigorous use than a tumble down a river, after all.

Only after completing that long mental checklist did Byleth square her jaw and allow herself to think of the battle, the evacuation, the towering dragon - Rhea, the jarring pulse of white-hot energy, and then...the fall. But there was nothing in her memory between the fall and her awakening in the river except a vague dream about a little goddess she hadn’t seen in months.

Judging from the state of her clothing, she must have impacted something sharp. Logic followed that said sharp thing would have wounded her, but her flesh was whole and smooth beneath the tears. If she’d gone unconscious for a while - and there were very few other options, given the hole in her memory - then her head should be pounding, but it was perfectly clear. Her throat should be dry, and yet she felt refreshed.

She stared down at her hands and wondered if Sothis had been more involved in this than her dream-presence suggested.

A rumbling overhead made her duck, flattening against the embankment to hide herself from the road. The unmistakable sound of wagon wheels grinding a path over gravel trundled past her hiding spot, along with many pairs of metal-booted feet. She crawled upward and peeked out as far as she dared; her heart sank when she spotted the red patches on their armor. An Imperial scouting party.

Byleth banished the pessimistic thoughts swirling around her head. Their evacuation plan was solid; even if the Empire still had a military presence in the area, the students and the townsfolk were a safe distance inside Kingdom territory by now.

She had to believe that.

The guarded wagon was heading in the direction of the monastery. Despite her forced optimism, she crouched low and followed them; if they continued on without stopping, all would be well. But if they turned toward Garreg Mach...well. She gripped the hilt of her sword as she crept along.

\---

“Five years…” Byleth muttered, leaning against the side of the bathing tub. She felt boneless, like clay, as Annette washed the dirt from her body with a soft cloth; behind her, Mercedes lathered shampoo into her hair, running long fingers through it to work out the knots.

“I know. I still can’t believe it,” Mercedes said with a giggle. “I’m so happy you’re safe, Professor.”

Byleth wondered if that were true. If a group of common bandits could infiltrate the monastery, how could this tiny group hope to hold it against a larger force? She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the way she’d come upon the scouting party slaughtered at the front gate, the trail of blood that had led her to what remained of Dimitri, the crazed look in his eye as he dragged her outside to fight the bandits.

She hissed when Annette passed over one of her wounds from the fight; Mercedes’ healing magic was strong, but she’d still need some time to heal on her own.

“Ooh! Sorry!” Annette squealed, dabbing lightly at the area instead. She looked over the dozens of slashes, sighing deeply, and then met Byleth’s curious gaze. “I just wish we’d gotten there sooner,” she explained, wringing out the cloth. “Then maybe you and Dimitri wouldn’t be so banged up.”

Byleth shook her head. “You all  _ saved _ us, Annette. And Dimitri was already wounded when I arrived. It- it looked as though he hadn’t been caring for himself well.” She looked up at the ceiling, brows tightly knit, and was briefly glad that he’d fainted from blood loss; it meant that Mercedes would be able to clean and patch him up without danger.

The bath chamber lapsed into silence as the heavy weight of Dimitri’s current state settled over them. 

After a while, Mercedes mused softly, “Five whole years, sleeping.” While she spoke, she used a bucket to rinse the suds out of Byleth’s hair. “I know you already told us about it, and I believe you, it’s just so…”

“Mysterious,” Annette supplied with an intrigued grin.

“Yes, exactly! Mysterious.” Mercedes fished through her bag and brought out a fine-toothed ivory comb. “I’m going to brush and dry your hair now, okay?”

Byleth nodded her assent, but even that simple movement made her ache all over. “Ugh. How long until you can get rid of this?”

Mercedes made a contemplative noise while dragging her comb through mint-green locks. “You’ll need to get your strength back up before I channel any more white magic through your body. Three days, at least.” She adopted a steely tone at Byleth’s groan of disappointment. “And that’s only if you rest the whole time!”

The prospect of seventy-two hours of rest made Byleth’s skin crawl. “Do I have to stay in bed? Can’t I walk around?”

“Hmm.” Mercedes considered her patient skeptically. “I suppose if you stay close to your room, a bit of walking is fine after the first day. But no running. And  _ certainly _ no training.”

Byleth slumped against the side of the tub, sending water sloshing over the side. 

“Aw, come on, Professor. It won’t be so bad,” Annette reassured her cheerily. “We can sit on your bed and catch up. Ooh, and play cards and board games!” She perked up at her own suggestion. “We can even invite Felix; I bet he’s super excited to play your weird sneaking game again.”

Byleth paused; the wide grin on her face melted off in an instant.

“Oh, um,” Annette sputtered, waving her hands as if she could stuff the words back into her mouth. “I’m sorry. I know you guys tried to keep it a secret before, but I figured that it’s been so long, you know?”

Mercedes laid a hand on her friend’s arm, shaking her head subtly. “It hasn’t been that long for  _ her _ , Annie.”

“Right,” Annette said, subdued. “I’m sorry, Professor.”

Byleth exhaled shakily. Her last conversation with Felix replayed in her mind; how stupid she had been. How cowardly. Too caught up in propriety to admit how she’d felt. “How is he?” She asked quietly.

Her two -  _ former _ , she thought with a start - students gave each other a conspicuous look.

“Well, we’ve all been through a lot since the war started,” Annette said carefully. “And...well, you have to remember that we thought you were  _ dead _ , so, um-”

“He hasn’t been very open with any of us,” Mercedes said, picking up the slack. “Felix has always been private, but he closed himself off completely after you di- disappeared,” she corrected herself smoothly. “He didn’t react very well when Seteth told us you’d fallen while protecting Rhea.”

Byleth went cold, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering despite the warm bathwater. She knew his history; she couldn’t even imagine the trauma that news had inflicted.

“Come on, Professor. You’ve been in there too long,” Mercedes said, her caring tone underlain with concern. “Let’s get you bandaged and tucked in.”   


\---

Time crept by at a snail’s pace inside Byleth’s room; the height of her bedside candle said that only four hours had passed, but it might as well have been four days.

Her wounds itched beneath the bandages, but she couldn’t scratch them. Her sword arm ached to test the experience her students had gained over the last five years, but it was currently immobilized in gauze. Mercedes had even put a twenty-four hour ban on visitation to her room; no one was to enter, and no one was to exit.

She wriggled up her mattress until she could strain her neck and look out the patchwork stone windows on the back wall; the sky was a light pinkish orange where the sun had begun its descent. It was even prime fishing time!

Her head fell back against her pillows in defeat. This would be so much easier if she were _ tired _ . By all rights, she should be, cut to pieces and drained of blood as she was. But besides the weakness in her limbs, she felt perfectly lucid and energetic.

In a moment of rebellion, her eyes strayed to the door. What if she just slipped out for a bit? A nip down to the dock, just to check on the pond, perhaps? Surely no one could fault her for confirming the state of one of their primary food sources.

Convinced, Byleth swung her legs over the side of her bed, wincing at the tight pull on her injuries and the cold stone underneath her feet. Mercedes had dressed her in a simple white hospital gown that tied at the sides, and while the garment was useful to medical professionals, it did little to warm the body. 

She pushed past the chill and stood; this level of discomfort wouldn’t stop her from alleviating her boredom. Silently, she crept across the room and pressed her ear to the door - she wouldn’t put it past Mercedes to post a warden, after all.

A few seconds passed while she focused intently, slowing her breaths to minimize noise interference. Most people didn’t care to mask their subconscious movements when standing still, so she listened for a throat clearing, a heavy inhale or exhale, a light footstep from a posture adjustment - but heard none. Satisfied, she turned the handle and pushed the door open, practically hanging off the frame with her good arm in her haste to get outside-

And came face-to-face with one Felix Hugo Fraldarius, who was leaning against the wall beside her door with his arms crossed, looking just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. 

Her momentum carried her onward, though, apathetic to her state of distraction, and she remembered too late that her dominant hand was bound up and thus incapable of bracing her fall. She turned her body so that her uninjured shoulder would collide with the walkway and closed her eyes to the pain - but it never came.

Instead, gloved hands gently righted her, touching her for only the briefest amount of time it took to help her regain balance before disappearing. When she opened her eyes, Felix was poised near her with his arms outstretched, tensed like he was ready to catch her again, his eyes wide and alarmed.

“You  _ idiot _ ,” he hissed, ruining the sweet, protective illusion. “What are you doing? You’re injured!” He scanned the bandages on her limbs, presumably for any signs of bleeding, then glanced up to her face and asked suspiciously, “Why are you smiling?”

His acerbic way of showing affection had coaxed her mouth into a fond grin; she dutifully killed the expression to spare his pride. “Just now, I didn’t hear you. You’ve learned to conceal your presence.”

He scoffed. “I’ve had five years of wartime practice.” With a competitive glint in his eye, he added, “I’m probably better than you, now.”

Byleth barked out an incredulous laugh, intending to issue him some sort of ill-conceived challenge, but the act aggravated a particularly deep gash on her stomach; she clutched at it, stumbling forward. “No need, I only made a- a miscalculation,” she said, thrusting out an arm to stop Felix from helping her.

“A  _ miscalculation _ -” he began angrily, but then interrupted himself to clear his throat. He seemed to school himself into a more even temperament, lowering his proverbial hackles. Byleth wondered if he was being considerate of her present condition, trying not to stress her - that would certainly be a point of growth.

“Mercedes said you couldn’t come out for a full day,” he said, switching gears. “A  _ full day _ , Byleth,” he repeated with finality when she opened her mouth to retort.

Her jaw snapped shut with an audible click. How casually he’d just used her name instead of her title, as all the other -  _ former _ , she reminded herself sternly - students still did. But she misliked his patronizing tone - he spoke as if she didn’t know the limits of her own body, as if she would endanger herself flippantly. However, she stopped herself from belting out something blunt and confrontational; since he was showing such admirable restraint, she thought it prudent to return the favor.

“What if I get hungry?” She asked instead. It had been too long since she teased him properly - and he didn’t let her down.

“I’ll bring you food,” he said flatly.

“What if I have to go to the bathroom?”

“Then I’ll walk you there and back- is there a point to this, or are you just being difficult?” Felix sounded unamused, but she got the distinct impression that he was enjoying this as much as she was.

She managed to keep her face inexpressive even as her organs shivered with repressed laughter. This felt much easier than when she’d been a teacher; as she thought, she was going to enjoy this newfound freedom as a peer, rather than a superior.

“Just being difficult,” she admitted, and didn’t miss the way Felix’s mouth twitched upward in response. “Come inside and sit with me?”

His guard came back up instantly. “Why?”

She fixed him with a defiant stare. “Because I’ve lost the use of my sword arm for three whole days and my friends have conspired to imprison me.” Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and re-entered her room.

“You’re not  _ imprisoned _ , you’re  _ recovering _ ,” he argued, but he followed her in anyway. He stopped just inside the threshold, glancing uncertainly back at the door, before leaving it open and sitting down at her desk. 

Byleth sank down on the edge of her bed, closing her eyes and exhaling in relief as the tension drained from her aching legs.

“See? You shouldn’t have even been standing,” Felix griped. 

She rolled her shoulders and cracked one eye open, a cutting reply on the tip of her tongue, but found herself paralyzed. 

Last night, she’d had to quickly reconcile herself to the passage of time after defeating the bandits; it was one thing to be told that five years had passed, but quite another to see the stark changes in her former students.

At the time, she’d been bleeding out all over the reception hall and could take in only the broad strokes, but when Annette and Mercedes had collected her this morning for a good washing, their new appearances hit her like a punch to the abdomen.

It was much the same now. Outside, the constant pain of her wounds and the thrill of an - admittedly, foiled - illicit outing had perhaps distracted her from really looking at the ways in which Felix had changed; in here, though, with no other stimuli to share her attention and the soft, warm glow of her bedside candle to illuminate his features, she was mesmerized.

His deep amber eyes were sharper now, his cheeks and jaw more angular, especially with his hair pulled back as tightly as it was. But what really gave Byleth pause was his body; his lean frame had really filled out, showing a hard and obvious musculature even through his many-layered outfit. Her eyes trailed down his torso and abdomen, catching on his tight, thigh-high boots; had his legs always been so toned and slender?

A strangled cough brought her attention back to his face, now stained a vibrant red. “You’re staring,” he muttered, voice further muffled by the hand splayed over his mouth and chin. His eyes were narrow and averted, head tilted almost bashfully.

Byleth found it unbearably cute.

“Sorry,” she lied, and his eyes flicked to hers briefly in annoyance. “Okay, I’m not sorry. This has all just been so- much.” She braced her hands on the edge of her mattress for something to hold onto. “To me, the Battle of Garreg Mach was yesterday. Now, suddenly, five years have passed and the Empire is poised to take over the continent. The monastery is a ruin and I’m not your professor anymore,” she recounted, growing increasingly morose as she spoke. “And all of you have grown up so much. I’m sad that I missed it.”

Felix relaxed somewhat. “Me, too,” he admitted quietly. A beat passed. The shock on Byleth’s face must have made him reanalyze his words; his eyes widened in realization, head snapping abruptly to the side. “That’s why you shouldn’t be jumping around like an idiot and making your injuries worse,” he said, cold as ice.

She sat in stunned silence for a moment before laughter overtook her, bubbling up and out of her throat uncontrollably; the force of it made her clutch her sides, tears streaming down her face. When she felt she could speak, she choked out, “Come on, Felix, it’s okay if you missed me. I missed you, too.” The mirth ebbed out of her slowly, taking many of her worries with it.

“Fine. I...missed you.” His voice was clipped, jaw set and ears red as tomatoes. “You’re - you’re acting differently than before.”

Byleth shrugged; he wasn’t wrong. Since waking up, she’d felt more free than at any other point in her life. “I don’t have to follow my father’s rules  _ or _ the Archbishop’s rules anymore,” she said, and while the fleeting memory of Jeralt still stung a little, she could now acknowledge it and move on. “So I suppose it’s easier to be honest.”

“Honest,” Felix repeated, and a shadow passed over his face. “Tell me  _ honestly _ , then: what were you hiding, that last night before the battle?”

The question floored her; she braced her arms to avoid literally falling to the floor, staring at him like a doe caught in lantern-light. “I-” her voice broke and she swallowed thickly. “You really started with the hard one.” She lowered her head, inhaling deeply to calm herself. There was no way she could admit that, on the night in question - when he held her face and reassured her and wormed so, so deeply into her unbeating heart - she’d finally had to admit that she loved him. The realization had broken over her like a wave, and her resulting panic had hurt him.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Felix said, gently tilting her chin up with one gloved hand. “I didn’t mean to cause you such distress.” He wore a deep, concerned frown and had leaned forward until their knees were nearly touching.

She subconsciously leaned into his palm, the leather rough against her skin. “No, it’s just-” she licked her dry lips; Felix tracked the action precisely. “Some things are harder to be honest about.”

“Indeed,” he agreed wryly, tearing his eyes away from her mouth and his hand away from her face.

Byleth reached up and touched where he had, shocked at how much bigger - even under the gloves - his hands were now compared to the last time she’d felt them. Her face heated up as  _ the last time _ replayed in her mind, the way he’d stared at her like he wanted to-

“Byleth,” he prompted, bringing her out of her thoughts. His eyes searched hers, creased with anxiety. “Are you all right?”

She blinked, trying to remember if she’d ever seen him hold eye contact for so long. But before she could comment on it, a wide yawn fought its way out of her mouth, dragging her head forward slightly and making her aware of the soreness in her neck muscles.

“I guess I’m tired,” she said apologetically, reaching up to rub at her shoulder.

Felix drew back from the intimate bubble they’d created. “That’s right. You need to rest.” His voice was heavy with self-deprecation, as though he were reminding himself more than her. “I should go.” He stood, an embarrassed slant to his mouth.

“Felix,” she called, and he stopped in the doorway. “We should talk about this again. Honesty, I mean.”

He remained turned away from her, back hunched, framed by the red-orange light of the setting sun. “You’re probably right,” he said.

She twisted her hospital gown in her hands. A few moments passed while she resisted lying down despite her growing fatigue and Felix still stood in the doorway, gripping the frame.

“Will you be guarding the door all night?” She asked, annoyed with how small and frail her voice sounded in the silence.

Felix took a deep breath and threw a glance over his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, and it might have been charming had he not immediately followed it up with a stern, “And neither are you.”

\---

Byleth was not one to dream often. Ever since she was young, her dreams had been infrequent and consisted of only a few recurring themes; now, she knew they were Sothis’s memories, jumbled and played back in a random order. Ever since merging with her, though, even those rare dreams had ceased, with only one exception: the time she’d spent sleeping after her fall.

But tonight was...different.

She dreamed of strong arms enclosing her and holding her against a warm body, of bare skin sliding against hers, smooth and electrifying, of hot breath on her neck and soft lips on her mouth - she’d never experienced such things, but her brain’s approximation left her panting and overheated, staring up at her ceiling in delirious confusion when she awoke. Most concerning was the dream-body’s face, still fresh in her mind, with its piercing amber eyes and raven hair.

The sun hadn’t even risen yet, dawn barely lightening the dark outside her windows, but she could tell that she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. Her eyes were wide open, mind a cacophony as she rubber-banded between aroused and ashamed each time she remembered a detail from the dream. 

Her thighs pushed together, uselessly trying to ease the ache between them, and with a frustrated grunt she pushed a hand into her underwear to take care of it. This part she was familiar with, and living with mercenaries had taught her how to take care of herself quickly, quietly, and efficiently. The mercenary life had also taught her how to ignore another person’s proximity in order to get the job done, but somehow, the thought of Felix just outside her door only heightened her pleasure, making her bite down on her tongue to keep herself silent.

She came to the thought of large, calloused fingers working her instead of her own, and offered the faintest of whimpers to the cold night air.

\---

Well after the sun had risen, a set of sharp, high-heeled footsteps approached her room, and a cheerful, musical voice announced, “Good morning, Professor!”

Byleth, who was in the midst of trying to tie her hair up with one hand, promptly dropped the hair tie and opened the door. “Dorothea!” She exclaimed, wrapping the woman up in a tight one-armed hug. “I didn’t know you’d-”

“Defected?” Dorothea asked with a sarcastic laugh. “Honestly, I wasn’t going to, but then Ingrid gave me a speech about justice and choice, while on the other hand, Edie pretty much  _ demanded _ my loyalty,” she said, plucking the hairbrush out of Byleth’s hands and the hair tie from the floor, then proceeding to brush and style her friend’s hair while talking, “and then I saw how Dimitri was doing - well, how the whole Kingdom was doing, really: poorly. And I just couldn’t leave them to fend for themselves, you know?”

A gentle smile broke out on Byleth’s face while she listened. “You really care about them.”

“Of course I do! And that includes you, Professor,” Dorothea said, and then, noticing Byleth’s attention stray to the open door, “I’m your ‘warden’ today, as Felix put it. He’s gone to have a meal and sleep, I presume.”

_ You presume wrong _ , Byleth thought dryly, imagining him wolfing down a plate of food and then heading straight for the training grounds. “What’s on my to-do list for today? More sitting and doing nothing?”

Dorothea put the finishing touches on a neat, high ponytail, then made a circle around her former teacher, nodding in approval. “Well, you have a date with Mercedes for a bath and a wound redressing, and then with Ashe for a nice big breakfast, but after that, we’re free to do whatever,” she said with a grin. “Oh,” she added, “but I’m not allowed to talk to you about the war, and you’re banned from the training grounds.”

Byleth deflated, consoling herself with the fact that her twenty-four hour isolation period was up. 

“Don’t worry! There’s plenty for us to do,” Dorothea chided, wrapping her arms around Byleth’s good one. “My personal vote is that we find you a new, gorgeous outfit from my extensive and glamorous wardrobe, and then we show it off by having tea in the garden. I can tell you all about what you’ve missed.”

The disappointment stewing in Byleth’s stomach evaporated in the face of such exuberance. “That sounds lovely,” she said, enjoying the sun on her back as they headed toward the bath house.

And Dorothea was right; there  _ was _ so much to do, but not in the sense she’d probably meant. Byleth underestimated how draining it would be to be poked and prodded by Mercedes, stared down by Ashe until she finished every crumb of the extravagant dish he’d made, and then poked and prodded  _ again _ by Dorothea in front of a full-length mirror.

At least she looked less like a mummy today. Mercedes had scaled back the bandaging, and even freed up Byleth’s dominant arm from its gauze prison on the condition that she didn’t use it for any strenuous activity. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dorothea said, helping Byleth into a chair and smoothing a tea napkin onto her lap. “I can’t believe I forgot that you were anemic right now. I should have taken you straight back to bed after breakfast.”

Byleth shook her head wearily, glad for the company despite her energy levels. “No, this is much better than being cooped up all day.” The loose-fitting red sundress that Dorothea had chosen for her swished pleasantly around her calves in the breeze. “Besides, you promised to tell me what I’ve missed.”

Dorothea beamed, pouring two cups of dark berry tea and placing one on each side of the table. “That I did,” she said, replacing the pot and elegantly taking her own seat. “What do you want to know? Nothing about the war,” she reiterated with a warning index finger.

Byleth thought for a moment, watching steam rise from her teacup. “How has everyone been? Despite the war.”

“Let’s see,” Dorothea began, steepling her fingers over her crossed legs. “I was worried about Ashe for a while, but he’s formed some healthy coping mechanisms. Sylvain’s coping mechanisms are- the same as ever,” she said flatly, and Byleth laughed. “Oh, but he and Ingrid have been getting along better recently. I think that friendship is really keeping them both grounded, just like Annette and Mercedes. I assume you already know about Felix?”

Byleth nodded. She noticed with a pang of sorrow that Dedue was never mentioned, but she’d already gotten that story from Mercedes on the first night. “And what about you?”

“ _ Me _ ?” Dorothea asked theatrically, but then settled into a sad smile. “I’ve been better,” she said candidly. “But I’ve also been worse, and having friends here helps.” She looked down into her cup. “I miss Edie sometimes.”

Most of her former students’ stories would probably be like this, Byleth thought.  _ Bittersweet _ . She placed one hand on the table, palm up in invitation, and Dorothea took it gratefully.

“I’m more worried about  _ you _ , Professor,” she said. “So much happened while you were sleeping. Don’t you feel a little dizzy?”

Byleth brought her cup to her lips with her free hand, inhaling the tea’s light fragrance and testing the heat with her tongue. With a scrunched face, she set it back down to cool further. “A bit. It’s strange that most of you are older than me now.” She tilted her head in contemplation. “Actually...once, you told me that I could confide my concerns to you.”

“Yes, and that offer still stands,” Dorothea encouraged, squeezing Byleth’s hand on the table. “What’s going on?”

_ It’s complicated _ , she wanted to say, but that wouldn’t be at all helpful. “I realize that we are at war, and that as soon as Dimitri and I have healed, we must focus on strategizing,” she said haltingly. “However, I’m finding myself increasingly burdened by ro-  _ romantic feelings _ .” She whispered the last words as if she were afraid of someone else hearing, despite the emptiness of the tea garden.

Dorothea raised both of her hands to rest dramatically below her mouth, which was stretched into a delighted grin. “I can’t believe this!” She squealed, then lowered her voice to an acceptable volume at Byleth’s pointed glare. “Okay, okay, I’m ready. Did you tell him yet?”

“ _ No _ ,” Byleth hissed furtively. “We’re at war and I- I don’t even know if he feels the same way.”

“Professor, please. It’s Felix.” Dorothea took a steady sip from her teacup, weathering Byleth’s shocked, betrayed reaction. “You two had the  _ worst _ poker faces, I swear. And yours was normally so good back then, too.”

“But how did you-”

Dorothea cut her off by raising one hand for silence. “Listen. We  _ are _ at war; you have to find your happiness wherever you can get it. You never know which of your allies will live to see tomorrow - that’s why I bed Sylvain in a tent after every battle.” She spoke earnestly, which made her easy admission all the more jarring for Byleth, who slowly reached for her teacup with a thousand-yard stare. “My point is: don’t hold this back. And of course he feels the same way about you,” she added as an afterthought. “Are you kidding me?”

Byleth frowned, puzzled. “How would I know that?”

The answering look she got from Dorothea could only be described as  _ pained _ . “Professor…” she trailed off in disbelief. “When we were in school, he spent most of his free time playing that weird game with you. He carried your unconscious body back from the Sealed Forest like a precious jewel, he- he just stood vigil over your sickbed for an entire day!”

A few seconds of silence passed while Byleth considered this, then she said, “Comrades in arms do those things.”

Dorothea’s mouth fell open. “ _ Comrades in arms _ don’t look at each other like you two did that morning I caught you sparring at the stables,” she said slowly. “Have you spoken to him yet?”

A deep blush crept up Byleth’s neck as she recounted the events of the previous night in hesitant detail, leaving out a certain dream she’d had. She looked down into her teacup as she spoke, distracting herself with the warmth coming off of it. When she was finished, she raised her head to a completely dumbfounded Dorothea.

“So he went into your room,” she said, and Byleth nodded. “He gently caressed your face-”

“It was more like-”

“Don’t interrupt. He lovingly touched your cheek, and looked into your eyes, and told you he missed you, and kept watch over your convalescence for a full day - and  _ you don’t know if he has feelings for you or not _ ?” Dorothea’s voice sharpened as she spoke, ending in a righteous fury that then waned again to lilting pleasantry, “I’ll say it again. Are you kidding me, Professor?”

When put that way, Byleth had to admit that Dorothea had a point, even if she couldn’t fully wrap her head around it yet. “Well, what do I  _ do _ about it?”

“You sit down with him and tell him how you feel, and then you both have a nice long talk like adults about what you want from a relationship,” Dorothea explained succinctly. “It’s really that simple.”

Byleth frowned around the lip of her teacup. “What if I don’t know what I want?”

“Then you talk about that, too. I really can’t stress the importance of the  _ talking  _ bit enough. For both of you,” Dorothea deadpanned. 

Nodding along, Byleth thought she could see the merits of this advice. The previous night, if she hadn’t been so fatigued, she felt as though she and Felix might have had a productive conversation.

“Right now, though, I’m afraid you’re coming with me,” Dorothea said with an air of authority that mismatched her disarming smile. Byleth stiffened like a forest creature caught in a snare. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’s your physician-appointed naptime!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> byleth: what does it mean when a boy touches your face and tells you he missed you
> 
> dorothea: ??????????? ? ? *looks directly into the camera*


	4. Chapter 4

The training sword snapped in his hands, clattering to the stone floor in jagged spears of wood. Felix stared coldly down at the remains, furious at his own lack of restraint; furious about so very many things, but today, specifically, he resented his inability to control himself around Byleth. 

She was injured. He  _ knew _ she was injured, but he’d still kept her up out of his own selfish desire to be near her again - to see her moving, talking, laughing, anything but his five-year mental image of a rotted corpse at the bottom of a cliff. 

With a frustrated growl, he brought a tight fist down on top of the dummy, finishing what his shattered sword couldn’t. The heavy doors to the training grounds opened just as it fell to pieces.

“Don’t,” Felix warned as soon as he saw Sylvain standing there; they both knew exactly who he resembled at the moment, seething and surrounded by broken objects.

Sylvain put up two hands in immediate surrender, taking a careful step over to the weapon rack. “Wasn’t going to,” he said diplomatically, lifting a wooden spear. “Just here to train.”

Felix retrieved another training sword - his third of the morning - and took up a battle stance at another training dummy (also his third of the morning). His mind swam with fatigue and self-defeating thoughts but still he brought the blade up, determined to reach a point of pure exhaustion before allowing himself to be alone in his room.

“So,” Sylvain drawled, halfheartedly performing his lance warm-up routine, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Felix delivered a savage blow to the side of the new dummy, not enough to break anything, but enough to send a message. The crack of wood on wood rang out, sharp and abrasive.

“Okay, okay,” Sylvain said, adopting a lighter tone. “I get it.”

The training grounds, empty save for the two of them, returned to a state of rhythmic hits and footsteps while Felix tried to ignore his friend’s presence. Logically, he knew Sylvain just wanted to help, but the thought of talking to  _ him _ about these particular problems left a sour taste in Felix’s mouth. Unluckily for him, Ingrid would probably be an equally bad choice;  _ how do I deal with wanting to bed our old teacher _ didn’t sound like the kind of problem  _ she _ was equipped to handle, either.

And so he was alone with his depravity. Felix glanced to the side, unsurprised to find himself being watched. He sighed inwardly, amending the thought: his depravity  _ and Sylvain _ . Synonyms, really, if he considered it.

“What do you want me to say?” He asked in a put-upon tone.

Sylvain perked up like a horse sniffing after a sugar cube. “Well, last night I saw you heading out of the dining hall with two plates of food, then you didn’t sleep in your room - I checked, don’t deny it - and this morning I find you tearing up equipment.” He spoke like an investigator listing off pieces of evidence; Felix misliked it. “All of this happens to coincide with the Professor’s miraculous return to the world of the living - so. What happened?” He planted the butt of his training lance on the ground and leaned against it. “And don’t say ‘nothing.’”

When put on a timeline like that, Felix supposed it did look rather damning, at least from the outside. “It wasn’t what you’re thinking,” he said harshly.

Sylvain raised his eyebrows in fake surprise. “Oh? So you  _ didn’t _ stand guard outside her room all night, consumed with lust?” He snort-laughed at the defensive glare he got in return. “No, I didn’t read your mind; Dorothea told me.”

“What-  _ when _ ?” Felix demanded, taking an aggressive step forward. “She’s supposed to be taking care of Byleth!”

If his friend’s eyes could go any wider, if his stupid jaw could go any slacker, they did. “Hey, she _ is _ \- I just saw her waiting outside the bath house and dropped by for a little chat.” Sylvain’s expression grew more devious. “So, it’s ‘Byleth’ now, huh?”

Backed into a corner, Felix could do nothing but cross his arms and lift his chin. “She’s always been ‘Byleth’ to me.”

“Uh-huh,” Sylvain said like it was the funniest joke in the world. “Dorothea said she basically had to chase you away this morning- whoa, what’s that face for?” He asked, mimicking the acidic frown Felix wore. “Relax, the Professor is in good hands.”

Felix huffed a dry laugh. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

The end of Sylvain’s lance tapped against the stone a few times while he seemed to put the pieces of something together in his head. Finally, the deep groove between his brows smoothed out; he looked up, his mouth a perfect ‘o’ shape. “Felix, do you- are you  _ jealous _ of-”

“She’s been hanging all over Byleth ever since joining the Blue Lions,” Felix said. “What else am I supposed to think?”

“Uhh,” Sylvain said nervously, mouth pulling into a tight frown.

“What?” Felix barked. “Spit it out.”

The frown stretched out into a grimace. “You’re not ready,” Sylvain cautioned. Felix motioned for him to continue, wondering what could possibly be so earth-shattering. Sylvain shrugged in a ‘ _ your funeral _ ’ sort of way. “Dorothea and I have been, uh, involved. For a while now.”

Felix cocked his head. “Involved…?”

The implication hit him at the same time that Sylvain made a series of lewd gestures with his hands. “Yeah, you know,  _ involved _ . So I don’t think you have anything to worry about there.” He continued the gestures for far longer than necessary, seeming to enjoy how uncomfortable it made his friend.

“All right, I get it. Stop.” Despite witnessing that vulgar display - he’d likely never get it out of his head - Felix felt immeasurably lighter. The rivalry he’d felt for the songstress dissipated almost instantly, replaced by a burning curiosity; all those times, what had Byleth truly been embarrassed about?

Sylvain laughed good-naturedly and complied, folding his arms around his lance. “Glad I could help. Now - when are you going to make your move?”

In a moment of pure regret, Felix realized that, in his outburst, he’d basically admitted his affections. He went rigid on the spot, gripping the hilt of his practice sword so hard that the wood began to give.

“You know what? You’re right. That was too much. Let’s take it a step back,” Sylvain said, replacing his lance on the weapon rack and gesturing for Felix to do the same. “Do you  _ want _ to?”

Reluctantly, Felix approached and set his sword upon the rack. It was too late to back out now, and despite how he felt about Sylvain’s philandering, his friend did probably have a wealth of knowledge to share on the subject of...wooing. Just thinking about the term sent a cold shiver up his back.

“Just- don’t give me any of your horrible pick-up lines,” he hissed out through clenched teeth, retaining what little dignity he could.

Sylvain grinned, leaning against a pillar. “Nah, my tactics would never work; you don’t have an honest face,” he explained without a hint of irony, glancing around to make sure they were still alone. “Your problem is that  _ you _ keep chasing after  _ her _ , when really, you need to make _ her  _ chase after  _ you _ .”

“What,” Felix said, too utterly disappointed in everything he’d just heard to even make it a question. In the angry confusion of his tired mind, one indignant thought stuck out: _ does  _ he _ think he has an honest face? _

“Yeah, the trick is to pay her just enough attention that she’s always thinking about you. Then she’ll seek you out on her own.”

A few seconds of silence passed while Sylvain waited with a sagely grin, arms outstretched like he was expecting applause.

“This was a mistake,” Felix realized, pressing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger to stem a budding headache. Thirty-six hours of consciousness weighed on his brain like an anchor. “Forget I asked.”

“No, wait, it’s sure to work!” Sylvain called after him, jogging to catch up as Felix strode purposefully toward the doors. “Remember when the Professor first got here and you were doing your whole ‘cold and distant loner’ thing, and she spent so much time getting you to come out of your shell a little? Just do that again!”

Felix rounded in one movement, forcing Sylvain to skid to a stop to avoid crashing into him. “I’m not interested in  _ manipulating _ her, so save it,” he snarled, jabbing one finger into Sylvain’s chest. “Byleth’s worth more than that.” 

He whirled again, immediately regretting his severe tone but unwilling to engage in this discussion any further. In retrospect, he was unsure why he’d even sought Sylvain’s help in the first place.

It was only as the massive door was swinging closed behind him that he heard Sylvain whistle, long and low, and say sympathetically, “Man, you really do have it bad.”

The words chased him all the way to his room.

\---

Felix had grown used to loss. 

When he’d first attended the Academy, Glenn’s memory had already started to go numb around the edges, to become something that had happened to a younger version of himself, distant and cooled. It could still rise to the surface - and often did, when mentioned - and fill him with venom and misery, but it did so less and less often, and with decreasing potency.

Losing Byleth had brought all of those void-deep feelings back and magnified them, of course, but as the years stretched on to double, then triple the time in which he’d loved her, he found her memory gaining those same properties; remembering her still hurt, would always hurt, but it was no longer debilitating. She gradually became just another piece of his heart that would be forever closed to another.

So when he stirred from his midday rest, habit overtook him; like the countless hundreds of days before the previous one, he woke to a world without Byleth. 

His first thoughts were utilitarian, urging him to secure his sword and armor. That done, he made to slide out of a bedroll and froze when his arm met open air instead of hardened earth. He opened his eyes, finding himself face to face with the dormitory’s wooden flooring, and remembered.

The belligerent ride from Faerghus with Ingrid and Sylvain to make good on an old, dead promise - the fight with the bandits, hectic and efficient - Dimitri and Byleth bloody on the ground.  _ Byleth _ , alive and speaking-

Bright laughter jolted him out of his sleep-fogged thoughts, echoing faintly from outside. He climbed to his feet, loose hair falling around his face in wavy strands as he hurried to the window. There she was, sitting on a bench outside the dorms with Annette and Mercedes, laughing and talking like everything was normal. Like she hadn’t been gone for five years.

This  _ was _ the new normal, he supposed, and he was thankful.

In the shadow of the window, he allowed himself to watch her. The three of them looked to be playing a popular card game from the Kingdom; glancing over the number of cards in each player’s hand, he determined that Byleth was winning. 

He laughed softly, covering his mouth with one hand. Of course she was; didn’t those two know better than to play at strategy against  _ her _ ?

The afternoon sun had turned her seafoam-green hair to flaxen gold, curling gently at the middle of her back; when she reached up to tuck it behind one ear, Felix tracked the movement, his eyes straying from her hand down the slope of her jaw, to the pale hollow of her neck and over the curve of her shoulder, stopping at a silky, wine-red sleeve that hung off of it.

He leaned farther forward, fingers gripping the windowsill, his thoughts taking a definitive turn away from casual observation. That definitely wasn’t what she’d been wearing earlier. Part of him was immensely grateful that she’d changed out of that thin, distracting white shift, but he wasn’t sure if this - whatever kind of dress this was called - was much better. 

While loose-fitting, it clung to her form more tightly than the medical gown, showing off that figure that had initially tormented him as a student. Daily exposure to her old mercenary outfit - and his constant, focused struggle to not view his mentor in a lecherous way - had desensitized him before, but now those barriers were gone. In fact, he was struggling to find any reason at all not to think of her in a lecherous way.

A stray lock of hair slipped over her shoulder, tickling its way past her collarbone and into the plunging neckline of her dress, and Felix swallowed thickly, finding himself suddenly overwarm in his many layers. He forced his gaze away, back to her face, to safer waters-

And found Byleth staring directly into his eyes, head tilted and mouth curved into the same lopsided smirk she used to wear when she caught him sleeping in class.

Felix side-stepped like he was dodging an incoming blow, flattening his back against the wall beside his window, heart hammering a mile a minute. How could he have been so  _ stupid _ ? Byleth was the one that had taught him about detecting the presence of others!

He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. At least from there, she could only see him gawking at her and not the obvious, straining tent in his pants.

But...she hadn’t looked angry, or even confused. She’d almost looked intrigued, holding a question in her light eyes. That thought made his heart beat faster, made the uncomfortable tightness even worse. Any half-justifications he’d been able to form against his desires shattered in the wake of those eyes.

He took a ragged breath, feeling the dregs of his self-control slipping away as he tore the glove off of his right hand and practically ripped the buttons off of his jacket. Shrugging out of it and letting it - and his glove - fall to the floor, he slipped his hand under his waistband and curled his fingers around himself, letting out a breathy, desperate whine at the instant relief.

He bit into the leather of his other glove to stay quiet, imagining Byleth climbing the stairs, throwing open his door and finding him like this - debauched and panting against the wall - and it took him an embarrassingly short time to fall over the edge, throwing his head back and choking a muffled grunt into his hand.

For a few minutes he stood there, catching his breath, until his faculties returned enough to shame him into cleaning himself. Afterward, he stumbled to his desk, bracing himself against it.

He had to- he had to  _ do _ something. He couldn’t keep thinking of Byleth in this way and maintain his sanity.

But Sylvain’s advice was useless and Ingrid was a non-starter. He needed a way to solve this like a battle strategy, an angle of attack and an advantageous start, otherwise he would lose his nerve and retreat.

Felix pushed his hands back through his hair, staring down at the floor and racking his brain for solutions, until he spied the training sword tucked underneath his bed. A faint smile tugged at his mouth; he’d hidden it there after adding the sparring rule to their game. Byleth had excluded the dorms from the play area, but he’d wanted to always be prepared for an ambush - even if that meant catching her in the middle of the night with no time to retrieve a blade from the training grounds.

He picked up the sword, running his fingers along the weathered wood, and suddenly he had his answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dorothea: a+ advice  
> sylvain: garbage advice
> 
> (this was kind of a short one, sorry! last chapter will be longer!)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: 2/20 - minor additions for pacing

The early evening hours of her second night of confinement found Byleth pacing restlessly back and forth across the length of her room. Dorothea had left earlier in the afternoon to unpack the rest of her luggage from Fhirdiad, leaving her charge in the care of Mercedes and Annette - who then, in turn, had politely excused themselves after dinner to tend to Dimitri. 

So now Byleth was, again, left to her own devices. She’d already cleaned and polished her gear, folded and stacked her newly-repaired and purchased clothing, and even rearranged her various textbooks and novels in alphabetical _and_ categorical order; now, pacing in short, harried strides was her only remaining defense against thoughts of Felix.

She’d learned how to discern the feeling of being watched before even mastering the art of stealth; if someone, anywhere, had eyes on you, and you couldn’t get eyes on them, then your chances against them were minimal. So when that familiar sense had tickled at the back of her neck while she was playing cards with Mercedes and Annette, she’d scanned the area for its source immediately.

Under normal circumstances, she would have expected Felix to withdraw as soon as he was spotted. But he hadn’t, and Byleth soon figured out why; tracking the path of his eyes, it was easy to see that they were quite a bit lower on her body than was considered polite. It had taken all of her willpower to fight down a blush - she desperately did not want to explain this to Annette and Mercedes - and instead shoot him a calm, knowing smirk. And then, when their eyes met, he _did_ withdraw, disappearing into the shadows of his room in an instant.

But the memory of him, disheveled and intense, leaning against his window and staring directly into her cleavage remained with her. Whenever she wasn’t having an active thought, it surfaced; after rounds in her earlier card game, costing her a winning streak; between bites at dinner, prompting Mercedes to ask if the food was too spicy; and now it was a constant, low thrum in her mind, no longer able to be quelled by successive empty tasks.

It made her wonder if there was something to Dorothea’s insistence, after all; perhaps Felix did indeed harbor feelings beyond friendship toward her. A tiny flame of hope ignited in her chest, fragile and warm, but it was soon overshadowed by doubt.

Dorothea had made it sound like the height of simplicity, but...how _did_ a person just come out and ask something like that? Byleth knew herself; she was crude and overly honest, without any of the social tact that most of her well-bred students had. Felix was much the same way - it was one of the reasons they got along well, she suspected. Shared roughness.

Unfortunately, that trait did not lend itself to vulnerable conversation. They were both too prideful by half, rarely willing to admit weakness or leave their comfort zones.

Byleth sighed into the still air. There was no way she’d reach a conclusion while trapped in here with her own insecurities.

At least, since her isolation period was up, she could wander the monastery in peace. She fastened her jacket around her shoulders and opened the door, peeking around the frame to see if any silent guards had posted watch; the walkway was empty.

She wore the thin foot bindings that she usually reserved for battle, creeping across the courtyard, concealing herself when someone else would have crossed her path. Byleth felt she had the capacity for exactly one person’s company tonight, and it wasn’t any of these knights on patrol.

She took her time to re-familiarize herself with Garreg Mach’s layout after five long years of looting and disrepair, frowning at the new structural weaknesses in the walls and gates and making a mental note of which areas would need heavier reinforcement in the event of an attack. Her journey took her through the armory and the dining hall, both worryingly under-supplied, and then the knights’ hall and classrooms, darkened and cold.

Only the stables showed any sign of life, having been recently re-inhabited by her former students’ mounts. Byleth lingered there, recognizing Ingrid’s beloved pegasus and Sylvain’s sturdy warhorse and stopping to admire their growth.

Eventually she ended up where she’d known she would: the massive wooden doors to the training grounds. She rolled back on her heels hesitantly. If he was in there, maybe they could talk without being disturbed.

Byleth pursed her lips in determination, making a deal with herself. She’d take just a quick peek, and if Felix was inside, she’d make a genuine attempt at speaking with him. If not, she could just go back to her room, no harm done. Easy.

She even complied with Mercedes’s orders, using her left arm to haul the heavy door open just wide enough for her to slip inside, and then easing it closed behind her. The rapid, precise striking indicative of Felix’s swordplay reached her as soon as she breached the doors. 

Climbing onto the raised outer square, she skirted the wall to get a better angle on him. The moon was bright tonight, so he hadn’t lit any torches; the pale light complemented his hair, streaking it through with royal blue. He was almost at the end of his usual fast-pattern routine, taking quick, decisive steps around the dummy as he hit it. She watched him spin to avoid an imaginary counterattack, his form more lithe and deadly than ever, and wondered when he had become so graceful. So beautiful. 

When he was finished, he let his sword arm fall, using the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face. Byleth’s eyes snapped to his bared skin; she realized belatedly that he’d foregone both of his top layers, dressed down to a black, long-sleeved sweater and his customary tight leggings and boots. 

“I know you’re in here. I heard the door,” he said, slightly irked. “This is cheating. I’m not allowed to attack you.”

She laughed from her hiding spot. “Then, were _you_ also cheating earlier?”

His head turned in her general direction, a fierce smile on his face. “I suppose I was. Care to come out, or are you going to keep stalking me?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she quipped, “Are you done training already?”

While he moved to her side of the room, she quietly relocated, flitting between the pillars like a ghost. Behind her, he took up a scouting position, scanning the shadows for motion. She held her ground until his focus moved to a different part of the room.

“Why?” He asked wryly. “Having that much fun watching me?”

His playful tone made Byleth’s stomach muscles clench; who was this man and what had he done with Felix? Her surprise almost blinded her to his proximity; she had to quickly leap between pillars, catching the hem of her jacket to keep it from brushing against stone.

“Maybe I was just returning the favor,” she said, unable to stop herself, and immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. But it was too late; she heard him advancing, and this angle wouldn’t lend itself to a quick getaway.

His footsteps halted at the other side of the pillar, remaining inside the inner square. “That’s only fair, then,” he acquiesced, still in that teasing voice that made Byleth feel like she might melt. “Was that the only reason you came?”

She was glad for the barrier between them, unsure if she could keep her expression neutral right now. Felix was _so_ perceptive; he would see everything.

“No,” she said softly. “I wanted to talk to you. To continue our conversation from before. But it’s still-” She cut herself off, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Difficult,” Felix offered. “I felt the same.”

She shifted against the pillar so that her shoulder leaned against it, half-facing him. “But not anymore?”

His weight shifted as well; when he spoke, his voice was closer, like he was angling his head up. “I was afraid. Now I’m not.”

It was true, she thought. Somehow, he was as confident now as he was in battle, as collected as if he were discussing tactics with Ingrid.

“How?” She asked, inching around the pillar just enough to see his shadow. 

Felix leaned his back against the low wall, still looking up and away from her as if he could sense her avoidant mood. “It’s like any other weakness. Once you find the root of it, you can overcome it.”

The root.

Byleth sat down on the lip of the wall, swinging her legs over the side. She didn’t look down at him, nor him at her. 

Thinking back, she could pinpoint the moment that her confidence issues had started: the night before she fell, when she’d seen such terrible shock and betrayal in his eyes. That was what all of this came back to, wasn’t it? The instant their relationship had changed. After that, nothing had been simple anymore.

She hopped down into the central square, landing nimbly to avoid stress on her leg wounds, and kept her back turned to him as she spoke, “I’m sorry I lied to you. Before.”

Felix pushed off the wall and came up behind her, stopping so close to her back that she could feel the heat coming off his body; his heavy gaze bore down on her, just as intense and purposeful as it had been earlier that day. 

“I know. Don’t do it again,” he murmured, mouth just above her ear, and Byleth shivered. His fingertips grazed her bare arms on either side, gently trailing downward. “I _am_ curious to know what you were hiding from me, but I suspect you’re not ready to say.”

Not trusting her mouth to form anything coherent, Byleth simply nodded in confirmation. Her skin was hyper-sensitive, tiny bumps rising in the wake of his callused touch, and _oh_ , the rough, dragging sensation was better than anything her dreams could _ever_ come up with-

“As I thought,” Felix continued in that strikingly sultry voice; Byleth had no idea that he could sound like this. “To that end, I want to add a rule.”

The slow path of his fingertips ended at her wrists. He pressed something into her left palm, and she looked down to see a wooden training sword. He first curled her fingers around the hilt, then his hand over hers. 

Byleth could only laugh breathlessly. Of _course_ this was his aim.

“You’re still recovering,” he said, directly into her ear, breathing warm puffs of air onto her cheek with every word. “And we will both be busy very soon. But after that, when you’re ready, wear this-” he tapped the training sword with his index finger, “-like you used to. When I see it on you, the game begins again.”

She gripped the sword eagerly; Felix mirrored the action over her hand with a hitched sigh. “What was the rule?” She remembered to ask, but barely.

There was a smile in his voice as he answered, “When I beat you, you’ll tell me what you really wanted to say that night.”

Enough was left of her lust-addled brain to be offended. She tilted her chin up, intending to chastise him, but instantly regretted it. Doing so put her mere inches from his face, and the combination of his fond smile and black, blown-out irises arrested her completely. 

What she’d meant as a challenge came out barely a whisper, sounding more like a plea than an admonishment. “ _When_?”

He watched her mouth as it moved; for a moment she thought he would close the miniscule gap and kiss her, but instead he pulled back, looking as if it took great resolve to do so. “Do you accept this rule?”

The action snapped her out of her trance, and Byleth took the opportunity to compose herself, stepping out of his grasp and clearing her throat. “I accept it,” she said. A thought occurred to her and she glanced to the side, finding Felix in a similar struggle for self-control. At least she wasn’t alone in this torment.

“When _I_ beat _you_ , you’ll tell me what you were thinking today while spying on me,” Byleth asserted, gaining immense satisfaction from the way Felix’s face blanched.

He chuckled in disbelief, shaking his head. “Deal.” He strode past her, making for the exit, but paused to lean over her; to anyone else, the move might look menacing and aggressive, but the proximity just made her heat up all over again. 

“Prepare yourself, Byleth,” he said, smirking in a cocky but affectionate way, then continued on his path.

She held it dutifully together until the door closed behind him, then allowed herself two staggering steps and an exaggerated exhale - when had she started holding her breath? And, for that matter, when had Felix become so-

_Infuriating; attractive; assertive_ , her brain supplied uselessly. No, she reasoned; he’d always been those things, but now he was...more. A _man_. She groaned, forcing herself to complete the short walk back to her room before she spent the entire night standing flustered in the training ground.

She propped the training sword against the wall by her door and collapsed onto her bed, shooting the wooden blade an annoyed glare as if this had all been its fault, somehow. 

\---

On the morning of the third day, Byleth dragged herself out of bed to a series of knocks, pulling on a simple, loose shirt and leggings before opening the door on Mercedes herself.

“Good morning, doctor,” she yawned, stretching her arms above her head.

Mercedes smiled and offered an arm, which Byleth gladly took, before leading her off to the bath house. “Good morning, Professor,” she said cheerfully. “Did you sleep well?”

Wispy threads of dreams - in which rough fingers explored every inch of her body - drifted at the edge of her mind, dimming with each moment of consciousness. “Yes,” Byleth said, and it wasn’t a lie. “Are you my caretaker today?”

“Actually, I have a surprise for you,” Mercedes said with a tiny giggle. She led them to the usual bathing chamber and set out her tools. “Since you’ve been so cooperative, I think your body is ready to be healed today.”

Byleth, who was used to this routine and already halfway out of her shirt, struggled to rip it the rest of the way off as fast as she could, ruffling her already-tousled bed head in the process. “Really?” She asked, practically throwing the garment across the room. 

Mercedes covered her mouth with one dainty hand, laughing behind it. “Really. When I initially estimated the time, I expected you to disregard my advice and injure yourself.” Byleth thought guiltily back to that first night, when Felix had caught her, and inwardly agreed with that logic. “So now you’re ahead of schedule. Oh, let me do that,” she added, swatting her patient’s hands away and unwrapping the bandages herself.

“And after, I can start training again?” Byleth asked, climbing eagerly into the tub as soon as her body was free of gauze. She soaked a soft cloth the way Annette had taught her and dabbed it lightly over each wound.

A faint crease formed between Mercedes’s eyebrows. “Yes, but you’ll need to take it slowly, Professor. Start with exercise before you pick up a sword, won’t you?”

Byleth nodded, already planning a ramp-up routine. She barely noticed the luminescent blue glow in the bathwater, only looking down when the persistent ache in her limbs had begun to fade. She watched the torn edges of her myriad gashes slowly come together and smooth over into new, clear skin. 

Mercedes withdrew her hands from the water and the magic dissipated; Byleth took a deep, unburdened breath, and grinned.

\---

She donned her familiar outfit and armor, fitting everything into place with a satisfying snugness, and secured the Sword of the Creator at her belt. It felt good to be battle-ready again. Protected.

On her way out, she spared a glance at the wooden sword by the door; _not yet_ , she thought, and left it alone.

The very first thing she needed, even more than a return to her training regimen, was information. She climbed the steps to the faculty offices and received a detailed five-year summary of the war from Seteth. The man was nothing if not meticulous, and his notes on troop movements, victories, losses, and supply chains greatly aided her understanding of the situation.

At the end of his explanation, Byleth looked gravely over the various maps spread out on his desk; it was no wonder Mercedes hadn’t wanted her asking about the war. Knowing how close the Empire was to total domination would have occupied every moment of her recovery time.

“I am truly glad you’ve returned to us,” Seteth told her wearily, smiling up at her with unpracticed hope in his eyes.

The news that she was to stand in for Rhea came as more of a shock, albeit a useful one. Byleth didn’t know the first thing about leading a church, and told Seteth so, but she knew how to lead soldiers, and this authority would let her get the monastery’s fighters organized quickly.

He gave her a keyring that could access any door in the monastery. She promptly unlocked the cardinals’ room and repurposed it for war, then sent Seteth to gather the knights and former students.

She was only a little disappointed, but not surprised, when Dimitri didn’t answer the summons. Nevertheless, she placed an empty chair next to herself at the head of the table out of propriety. 

When people started trickling in, Seteth arranged them so that the knights sat to Byleth’s left and everyone else sat to the right. She’d instructed him thus so that when everyone was seated, the table would be split evenly between the Knights of Seiros and their commander, and the Faerghus loyalists with their own leader - or, as it currently was, his uninhabited spot.

“As per Archbishop Rhea’s orders, Byleth Eisner has taken command of the Knights of Seiros in her absence,” Seteth said without preamble when everyone was seated. He stood behind her chair and slightly to the left, clearly showing that his advisorship role had not changed. 

“I know that this situation is not ideal, but I’ll do my best to lead you,” Byleth said, looking to the knights’ faces for their reactions. She was relieved to find acceptance there; perhaps they’d already assumed this outcome. “After speaking with Seteth, I believe that Rhea is in the Empire. Were she simply lost, the knights would have found her in their search by now, and were she deceased, Edelgard would certainly have announced it - such an event could only strengthen her own army’s morale and weaken her enemies’.”

The knights bowed their heads in agreement, the same way they used to do when receiving tasks from Rhea. This was even followed up by a hearty, “Hear, hear!” from Alois, who was promptly silenced by Shamir’s pointed stare.

Next, Byleth turned to the right side of the table. “Since the Empire is your enemy as well, I was going to propose that we combine our forces, but,” she said, looking to the empty seat to her right, “since your prince is absent, I can only ask each of you as individuals. Will you join me?”

Eight pairs of eyes landed on Dimitri’s chair, some briefly, some lingering.

Felix, who had taken the seat closest to Byleth’s right, answered definitively, “The boar doesn’t speak for me. Of course I’m with you.” She gave him a small smile before moving her gaze down the line.

“Fighting the Empire helps Faerghus,” Ingrid said firmly. “As long as we remain on this path, I pledge my lance to your cause.”

Sylvain simply shrugged and pointed back to Ingrid. “What she said.”

“You can count me in as well,” Ashe asserted with a determined grin.

Annette and Mercedes looked at each other, then to Byleth, and they both nodded deeply.

At the end of the table, Dorothea sat with her legs crossed. “Oh, you already know that you have my loyalty, Professor,” she said with a wink.

In her peripheral vision, Byleth saw one of Felix’s eyes twitch.

“Good,” she said, crossing her arms on the table. She glanced up at Seteth, who unrolled a map of Fodlan before her. “Then let’s get to it.”

\---

With their small fighting force, their initial victories were hard-won. Resources of every kind were stretched thin across battlefields and supply lines, but Byleth made it work - even if, beneath the veneer of efficiency, the army was being held together by stitching thread. 

But the battles invigorated her; fighting alongside her students-turned-soldiers helped her mood more than any victory could. Ingrid and Sylvain had grown into their own as frontline combatants, even if they could only marginally rely on Dimitri, their third, at the moment. Dorothea and Annette covered them with magical support, while Ashe kept any potential dangers out of range and Mercedes was on standby for healing.

While that slow front advanced, she and Felix would sneak to the enemy’s backline, striking at priority targets and then disappearing into the trees before their cavalry or heavy axemen could retaliate. After the battle, they’d re-materialize with the unit, covered in blood. More than once, the only indication of their presence was a high-pitched shriek from Ashe.

Best of all, as more soldiers and merchants poured into the monastery, she was able to hand off some of her responsibilities to the senior knights, and then to Gilbert and Rodrigue when they volunteered. 

One day, when she woke up and realized that she actually had a free weekend - the first since her fall, to be precise - she excitedly bent down next to her dorm room door, picked up the training sword, and affixed it to her belt. During breakfast, Felix’s eyes were glued to it.

By lunch, he was wearing one, as well.

During their afternoon shift cleaning the stables, Sylvain glanced to her belt and sighed. “Again? Is this, like, foreplay for you two?” 

Byleth scrunched up her nose, unsure how to answer.

\---

They circled each other for the rest of the day; Felix seemed unwilling to strike during daylight hours. It posed too much of a risk, she silently agreed, and she knew he wanted his prize. Byleth felt the tension building in her as the sun sank lower in the sky, unable to focus on her gardening. 

Finally, the evening bells rang, signalling the deployment of night patrols and prompting all other soldiers to return to their barracks. The front gate rumbled shut, watchmen lit torches along the walls, and Byleth slipped out into the dusk to begin the game.

She started by walking the perimeter, keeping clear of the gardens’ narrow sight lines and the openness of the cathedral bridge, but there was no sign of him. With no way to know when Felix would begin his own hunt, she decided to take her time, mapping out likely ambush spots in her head and a reliable path through the darkness.

The moon had waned to almost nothing, forcing the normal night traffic of the monastery to stick to a small torchlight path. Any shadows she saw flickering in the rings, she ignored; he was much more skilled than that, now.

Finally, she felt eyes on her, but he didn’t strike right away. Byleth kept walking, leading him to the patch of open ground by the fishing pond, unbothered by his behavior. She’d seen his growth in battle, how many weaknesses he’d overcome and strengths he’d honed over the years, but she still noticed something glaring in their coordinated attacks: patience. He was one to wait for the _first_ opportune time, rather than the _most_ opportune time. 

Therefore, she was confident he would grasp the chance to ambush her by the pond; Byleth’s fighting style preferred an open area in which to move her foes around, while Felix tended toward quick, decisive engagements. He should see an advantage in the limited space underneath the dining hall landing.

But he subverted her expectations. In front of the greenhouse, between the rows of short hedges that decorated its entrance, he struck - and in the second it took Byleth to draw her sword and jump to the side, she realized her mistake.

_This_ was the first opportune time. She hadn’t been thinking enough like him. The hedges provided exactly the sort of enclosed ground he preferred.

Now he had her on the defensive, gaining an immediate advantage. She dodged another controlled arc, hopping over a hedge to put it between them. Despite her situation, Byleth laughed, sharpening her focus to a fine point as she went in for an advance of her own; she saw the same delight reflected in Felix’s eyes when their swords met. He also knew the rush of this dance, this wordless language they shared.

He pushed her back mercilessly, taking a risk by sweeping low inside her range and narrowly dodging a blow to the leg. She barely managed to parry, sending him back a step, but Felix was relentless. He came back again and again, testing her defenses until he had her in the narrow walkway that led to the second floor dormitory stairwell.

Byleth couldn’t retreat without exiting the play area, and she couldn’t advance without making a lunge past him, a maneuver which Felix excelled at countering. _You clever bastard_ , she thought, and it must have shown on her face because he answered her with a smug smile, glancing to the space beside him like he was inviting her to try.

She decided to answer this challenge, setting up a downward swing in order to run under his arms when he blocked up-

But he didn’t block. Instead he redirected the blow with the side of his blade, causing her swing to go wide and sacrificing his weapon in the process; it snapped down the middle from the perpendicular force. Before she could recover, he brought the jagged, shortened sword blade to her throat, splinters of wood poking into her skin.

Byleth looked down at the other half of the sword on the ground, then back up at Felix, who was grinning victoriously, amber eyes glowing with pride, face flushed with exertion.

“In a real fight, that would have gotten you killed,” she observed.

He stepped closer, making her very aware of the line of his body against hers and the cold stone wall biting into her back. “Good thing that wasn’t a real fight, then,” he said, eyes flicking expectantly between hers and the weapon at her neck.

She exhaled slowly, resigning herself to the loss. A strange sort of satisfaction mixed with the bitterness of defeat; she wondered if this is how Jeralt had felt the first time she’d bested him. “I yield,” she said, releasing her sword. 

Felix dropped his broken one as well, and then they were just a man and a woman pressed together in the night. “And?” He asked lowly, excitedly.

She looked up at him, at the readiness in his confident stare, and it dawned on her that he already knew; that night at the training grounds, he knew, but he wanted her to tell him in her own time. His words - _prepare yourself_ \- repeated in her mind, taking on new meaning.

“And I love you,” she murmured, a lump rising in her throat.

He laughed, but it was more like a wheeze - a small, happy sound - and slid his gloved hands along her jaw and into her hair. “Finally,” he breathed in the space between them, and crushed his mouth to hers.

Byleth returned the enthusiasm, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around his neck. She didn’t know what she was doing, or what to do from here, but she knew she wanted more. Much more.

When he nipped at her bottom lip, she shivered and gasped, and he took the opportunity to surge forward and slide his tongue into her mouth, licking deeply and bracing the back of her head with his hands. She made a high, needy whine in her throat and reciprocated as best as she could, feeling clumsy and awkward.

His kisses were brutal, demanding, and she answered in kind; they’d both waited too long for this to be a gentle affair. His hands left her hair and smoothed down the curvature of her body, stopping to dig his fingers into her hips.

He pulled back with great effort, grunting when she chased him. “Byleth,” he prompted, voice rough and thick with desire. She opened her eyes, finding that his face much matched his tone, lips red and swollen.

“Tell me if you don’t want this,” he said, and used his grip on her hips to pull her taut against him, one thigh between her legs. Something hard and warm pushed against her stomach; she exhaled harshly at the sudden stimulation, crossing her wrists behind his neck to keep herself steady. 

His eyes were lidded, pupils nearly black as he stared down at her. She answered him by grinding against his thigh on her own this time, slowly, deliberately, while reaching up with one hand and pulling his hair free from its tie.

Dark waves fell around his face; he made a low, hungry sound in the back of his throat and picked her up by the waist, grinning wickedly when she yelped. With one hand, he guided her legs around his middle, then carried her off the sidewalk and into the grass between the greenhouse and the dormitory building. He re-situated her against the outer wall of the greenhouse with a self-satisfied hum.

Byleth eyed the few trees blocking them from the walkway, giving Felix a dubious look. “What if someone walks by?” She asked breathlessly, but her hands were already toying with the buckles on his jacket.

He pulled his gloves off, tossing them into the grass. “I don’t care about that and neither do you,” he said, glancing down at her busy fingers.

_Fair enough_ , she thought, and dove back in to claim his mouth. She finished unclasping his outer jacket and sword belt, pushing both quickly off of him while he smiled against her lips.

“Impatient?” He teased, using his now-bare hand to tilt her head. He pressed open-mouthed kisses down the line of her neck while his hands moved to unfasten her chest armor. “That’s so unlike you,” he purred, and bit down at the hollow of her throat.

She cried out; it morphed into a whimper when he laved his tongue over the bite, tugging her dark armor off and letting it fall heavily to the ground. “I can’t- I can’t stay quiet,” she panted.

“Good,” Felix growled, tugging down her bodice so that her breasts bounced free. “Anyone who hears will know you’re mine.” He took two ample handfuls and flicked a nipple with the tip of his finger, watching her reaction like he watched an enemy combatant for an opening: calculating and learning.

Byleth arched her back off the wall, gasping. He did it again, this time pinching them both, then rolled them between his fingers; each time she made a new sound, he paused for the barest second, as if he were building a catalogue of stimuli, then moved on to try something else.

When he sucked a nipple into his mouth and gently bit down, Byleth whined and tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling on the silken strands. He groaned deep in his throat - she noted that for later - and looked up at her, eyes cloudy and intense.

“Please,” she begged, without quite knowing what she wanted. An insistent ache throbbed between her legs, tight and clenching.

He straightened up again, pushing her hair out of her face and cupping her cheek. “I have you,” he said hoarsely. “You can relax.”

She did her best, willing the tension from her shoulders and legs, letting his weight hold her up.

With his other hand, Felix reached between them and unbuttoned her shorts. He pushed them, along with her tights and underwear, down just far enough to grant him access, looking to her face for signs of discomfort at each stage.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, and waited for her faint nod before sliding one finger along her center.

Byleth inhaled shakily and brought him in for another kiss, deep and languid, moaning into his mouth when he pushed a finger inside her. He went slowly, keeping one hand on her face as he worked her open with the other, caressing her cheek. She melted beneath this new, gentle side of him, becoming pliant under his touch. 

After a while he added another finger and she hissed at the sudden pressure; he kissed her forehead to lessen the impact, shifting the angle of his hand so he could press his thumb against the nub she used to pleasure herself - a spot that made her nearly sob. With the addition of his thumb swiping lightly back and forth, she felt herself quickly approaching her peak, the string of her arousal pulling taut.

She tried to turn her head away, but strong fingers held her chin in place; the need in his eyes as he drank in her expression pushed her over the edge and she came with a wordless cry, shaking and squeezing her legs tightly around his waist. 

Byleth leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily, and when she managed to open her eyes, she found Felix staring at her in rapt fascination.

“I want to see you do that again,” he said greedily.

She laughed and reached down to palm the front of his pants, feeling him pulse against her hand. “I think I want to see you, first,” she said, taking in the way his throat bobbed and his breath hitched. 

He acquiesced silently, removing his fingers from her and using his hands to support her waist. Byleth pushed the hem of his long-sleeved black shirt up and over his stomach, running her fingers along the toned muscles she’d briefly spotted in the training grounds. He shivered underneath her, lips parted as he watched her explore.

She unbuttoned his pants and freed him, trying not to let any surprise show on her face. This was supposed to fit inside her? She ran an experimental finger over the silky skin, finding that, despite its rigidity, it yielded to pressure. To test this theory, she wrapped her hand around it and squeezed lightly.

“Byleth,” Felix warned.

Smirking, she released her hold, instead using her legs to guide him to her entrance. There she paused, looking up and leaving the final step to him. They locked eyes as he rubbed soft, slow circles into her hips.

“Breathe,” he told her, and she realized she wasn’t.

He lined himself up and sank into her slowly, carefully, stopping often to let her acclimate. The stretch made her grit her teeth; she only remembered to relax halfway through, and it made the rest easier. When he was fully seated, Felix braced one forearm against the wall for leverage and let out a choked grunt, quivering with restraint.

Byleth did the same thing he’d done for her earlier, pushing the hair out of his face and pressing their foreheads together. They rested that way for a moment, eyes closed, joined and breathing together in the silence.

And then Felix opened his eyes, dark and wanting, and began to move in earnest, thrusting shallowly and pushing deeper every time. Byleth clung to his shoulders and kept mostly quiet at first, but then he hit a place inside her that made her cry out sharply; this spurred him to reach a hand between them and stimulate her outside as well, and the combination had her scratching her nails down his back and moaning into his ear.

This time she came with his name on her lips, and soon he followed her, muffling his desperate groans against her mouth. She held him through his peak, one hand fisted loosely in his hair.

After a few moments spent panting and basking in the afterglow, Felix gently disentangled their limbs, looking down at her with a fond smile. Byleth returned it, letting her hands smooth down his neck to rest on his shoulders.

"Someone definitely heard that," he teased, ruining the tender moment.

She rolled her eyes, keeping a mental note of how proud he seemed of that idea. "As acting Archbishop, I'll gladly field their complaints."

Felix laughed, helping her stand again and fix her clothing. She then helped him do the same, frowning at the complex buckles on his coat.

“How did I get these off?” She grumbled, giving up and just leaving the garment open.

Felix chuckled, making no attempt to help her. “Determination,” he deadpanned, reaching up to tie his hair back, but Byleth stopped him.

“I like it down,” she said, suddenly shy despite what they’d just done.

He paused, a hint of his earlier flush returning. “Oh,” he said, pocketing the tie instead. “Okay.”

They gathered their armor and gear silently, trading pieces when it turned out they’d picked up the wrong ones. When there was nothing else to clasp or re-attach, Byleth looked up, awkward and unsure.

“What now?” She asked, realizing how much they hadn’t discussed beforehand. Was this a one-time thing? Did he even feel the same way? The magnitude of questions she’d forgotten to ask weighed on her head like a rock.

Felix regarded her steadily. “A bath and then bed, I think,” he said matter-of-factly. “Your room or mine? I suppose it doesn’t matter much anymore.” He started off in the direction of the bath house, stopping a few paces out and turning as if he’d remembered something, but Byleth saw the wry smile on his face. “Ah, but your room is closer to the training grounds, isn’t it?”

She shook her head slowly. _This man_. Always effortlessly dispelling her doubts.

“That it is,” she agreed, hurrying to his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sylvain the next morning when he sees two training swords on the sidewalk, one broken: *touches the ground* something happened here


End file.
